AN EXCERPT FROM MY FORTHCOMING BOOK TITLED - "HEIRLOOM"
It was the morning of the day she had been waiting for all her life. Taking a deep breath, she eased her bedroom door open, and quietly tiptoed down the narrow hallway toward the parlor. She slowly eased toward the kitchen door, being careful not to wake anyone. But wake who she thought; her grandmother, her children? It was too early to think clearly. But one thing she was certain of was the bubbly feeling in her stomach at the thought of seeing him again.
As she stepped out onto the back porch, she could finally breathe. She found his note exactly where he said it would be; behind the back porch steps, underneath her grandmother’s old black pot. Nothing in the whole wide world mattered as much as that piece of paper torn from a brown paper bag. She closed her eyes and squeezed it. She'd waited so long for this day. A cool breeze blew across her face as she peeped over the garden fence. She wanted to make sure no one was around. An eerie feeling filled her spirit as she looked down the empty street. Strange she thought. Where was everybody? But folks did tend to stay in out of the heat during the hot summer months. Still she thought it was strange not seeing anybody, on top of the fact that it wasn’t even mid-day yet. But she didn’t have time to think, and if somebody did see her, she didn’t care. All that mattered was being with him again. It seemed like a thousand years passed since the last time they’d been together.
The smell of fragrant honeysuckle met her at the gate, and for that brief moment it all felt like a dream. But it wasn’t a dream, it was real; she was going to see him again. The feel of his note in her hand told her so. And as she squeezed it tight her stomach quivered. In her excitement she never realized she was still holding her grandmother’s old pot. All she could think about were the words in his note.
“I be waitin’ on you baby girl comin’ to meet me in my world. Just follow the dirt path pass the old Oak tree, ‘longside the honeysuckle bushes behind the whitewashed fence. Come through the peach orchard and take the long path through the woods to the meadow where the yellow wildflowers grow. I be waitin’ on you under the old Magnolia tree.”
And so with her dress-tail flapping in the wind, she took off flying. She flew over the Oak tree, pass the whitewashed fence, down the long narrow path; and flying on she flew through the peach orchard into the woods. When she finally landed she was standing at the mouth of the meadow where a million yellow wildflowers danced in the rays of the morning sun and the whole meadow was sparkling in a brilliant golden light. It was so beautiful it took her breath away. She’d never seen a yellow so bright, or a sky so brilliantly blue. The leaves on the trees glistened the most luminous green she’d ever seen. So much so they seemed alive. And the simplest sounds seemed to go right though her. The wind moving through the leafs on the trees, the babble of the little brook running alongside the path, the song birds, even the buzzing of the bees; everything was so beautifully alive. So she just stood there taking it all in.
When her eyes finally found him he was leaning languidly against the Magnolia tree, waiting for her just like he said he’d be, and smiling the most enchanting smile she’d ever seen. The mid-morning sun cast a long full shadow of him all the way from the Magnolia tree across the forest floor to where she was standing, and it was as though they were touching. She stood still, starring at his long shadow and at him. Her heart was pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it. She wanted to say something but she could barely breathe let alone speak. So she just stood there barefoot and beaming, and smiling back at him.
His gaze was magical. A speck of sunlight reflected off a leaf into his eyes that sent a wave of energy straight to the pit of her stomach, making every fiber in her young tender body tingle. She’d never felt a feeling like that before. The look in his eyes penetrated her very soul. And because she couldn't speak she waited for him to say something, but he couldn’t speak either. It was as if he was seeing her for the very first time, and she was the most beautiful barefoot girl he’d ever seen. She was wearing the same yellow dress she wore that Easter Sunday when they first met, the one with the purple daffodils floating on a long white ribbon that curved around her body from the front to the back. Yellow and white buttons opened down the front to her waist, matching perfectly with the yellow band around the white straw hat she was wearing. And even though it was the exact same outfit she wore that Easter Sunday, she was prettier than ever. The only difference was she wasn’t wearing her new Easter shoes. She couldn’t run in new shoes, so she came barefoot. Or maybe she just forgot to put them on. But it didn’t matter to him because everything was perfect just the way she was.
A warm whiff of fragrant flowers drifted in the air and once again she felt like she was dreaming. So she focused all her attention on the mysterious look in his eyes, and his long slender body leaning against the magnolia tree. He finally spoke. “Hey dare pretty gal. What you got me standin’ here in dese woods like a lovesick puppy waitin’ on you for.” But she couldn’t answer. “What the matter? Cat got your tongue,” he asked?
Still unable to speak, she just stood there smiling. But her smile was all he needed to give him the courage to keep things moving again. “What you got dare in dat old black pot?”
She looked down and for the first time since she left home, she felt the weight of the pot in her hand. She was too embarrassed to look at him, so her eyes stayed stuck on the pot. Instinctively his senses registered her mood, and he knew exactly what to say to get her moving.
“You better come over here and git some of this sweet Magnolia shade fo’ you start fryin’ like a little chick ‘a dee,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. She burst out laughing. He was laughing too, and like magic their laughter broke the spell the black pot put her in, and she was alive again. Her breast nodded yes with each step, and as she floated toward him, his eyes registered every syllable of her; the full plump lips, the delicate neck that sat upon strong but tender shoulders, the slender waist that introduced the sensuous curves of her hips, and the way her dress lay upon her thighs reminded him of baby dolphins dancing in water. And the way her long legs glided in a graceful stride made him anxious. It was her first time in the meadow, and he wanted to make sure her move into his world was smooth and easy. He was nineteen, and she’d just turned sixteen, and the three years between them was just the perfect amount of space for something unstoppable to happen. It was the perfect formula for the sacred and the sinful, for the yin and the yang to light the dual flame.
The movement of her body was entrancing and the closer she got the more beautiful she became, and the more nervous he felt. He could hardly wait to touch the long black braid swinging from side to side behind her back. But when she finally reached him, all he could do was stand there smiling, letting only their senses touch; sight, sound, and smell. Talcum power for her, Florida water for him. The sunlight shifted, making a fragile shadow of their bodies, and the mood it made was perfect for everything she was feeling, but too shy to ever say, and everything he'd ever dreamed of. So once again he began making magic with his smile.
“Let me see what you got in dat pot gal.” Her eyes stayed on his as he took the pot from her hand. She wondered how he could talk and smile that magical smile of his all at the same time. “Come on wit me,” he said. “Wanna show you somethin’.”
He took her hand, and she floated beside him through the yellow wildflowers, across the meadow to the edge of the woods where an endless bounty of winding vines weighed down under a hundred thousand wild blackberries that went rushing everywhere. And like the first girl and boy in creation, they went running, filling the air with effervescent laughter, and filling the black pot with wild blackberries. When the pot was full, she followed him back across the meadow where a patchwork quilt lay on the ground beneath an ancient Oak. Funny she thought, she hadn’t noticed it before. It reminded her of her grandmother’s patchwork quilt, and when he held out his hand and pulled her down on the quilt beside him, she felt safe.
With her head cradled in his arm, and her mouth full of sweet blackberry juice, she watched a school of tiny yellow and white butterflies fluttering in the air above them, and it all felt like a wonderful dream. So she sat up and leaned over the pot, closed her eyes and made a wish.
“What you doin’,” he asked curiously?
And in a voice that was almost a whisper, she finally spoke.
“Making a wish,” she said softly.
“What you wishin’ for,” he asked, following her lead and speaking softly too.
“To stay here with you forever,” she answered shyly. “What you wish for.”
“Same thing you wish for.”
“If you whisper your wish in the pot, it’ll come true.”
He looked at her and then the pot, and burst out laughing
“You laughing ‘cause you scared,” she said calmly.
“Scared a what? I ain’t scared a no pot.”
“If you ain’t scared, then make your wish.” She pushed the pot between them. He looked at the pot, and back at her. And as he slowly leaned in toward the pot, he smiled and closed his eyes and whispered his wish.
“What you wish for,” she asked.
“For you,” he whispered softly in her ear.
The words drifted from his mouth onto her earlobe, and an unexpected wisp of his warm breath entered her ear, and her whole body trembled with pleasure. His senses registered her mood, and as he carefully eased closer, a rush of heat raced from her body, and from out of nowhere a current of energy shot through his loins. She sensed his hunger for her and so she teased him with quick little appetizing kisses, like samples, again and again. He delighted in the taste of blackberry juice on her lips, but when he tasted the savory flavor of her tongue, suddenly his appetite was ravenous, and so was hers. And so they feasted.
It was magic the way the yellow and white buttons down the front of her dress came undone. So much so that by the time his fingers reached the last button, her passions had come undone. And when her young tender breasts tumbled softly from their hiding place, his lips were right there to catch them. They tasted like sweet ripe watermelon, just waiting to be plucked; their nipples like the mouths of hungry babes craving to suck. So he plucked them free, and suckled them until she was transfixed with ecstasy. He took the cup containing loves elixir to his lips, and he drank, and drank, and drank until they were both so intoxicated that they drifted into a state of sensual consciousness where their souls became enjoined in natural matrimony.
Neither of them ever knew how it came to be that their brown bodies lay naked to the world. All she recalled was the pressure of his hands under her hips, and the heat of the sun bearing down on his bare behind covered with hot sweat flowing and mixing with the natural juices that oozed from every Black Orphus of her. Their bodies’ fit together perfectly under the sun’s hot rays, and it was glorious. Oh it was glorious, and the bond they made was beautiful. It was a bond fused by a lethal combination of fiery passions mixed with hot sunshine, fragrant magnolia blossoms, and the magic of a million yellow wildflowers for as far as their eyes could see. It was all these things pulsating with the energy and the heat of natural love. And the love they made was exactly the way nature intended it to be; wide open and free.
Their bodies were drenched from the suns heat, so they bathed each other in a rapturous pool of liquid joy. The intense momentum of their copulating bodies created a vortex of energy so active and alive, the Goddesses and Gods of Love arrived just in time to feast their eyes on the seductive dance of their lovemaking. But they were oblivious to world around them. His attention was fixated on the slippery slop of her wet derriere, compliments of his sweat-drenched abdomen, and hers on his audacious dance. His rhythmic motions filled the air with a thick euphoria that left her limp with ecstasy. So he gripped her hips firmly, and in a movement that only love could make, his body shifted beneath hers, thrusting her into the air, and suddenly she took flight. She flew across the meadow, above the wildflowers, over the tops of the tall pines, pass the winding vines of blackberries, and back across the meadow again, back in his arms.
She was smiling when she landed, her face was aglow in a tranquil haze of serenity. She softly drifted into a deep sleep, where she dreamed dreams of him and of the black pot filled with wild blackberries, and of the wishes they made that all came true.
