Page 61 of And Still Her Voice
“You might find this interesting.” River set down his book and sat up. “Sort of reminds me of what you might be going through with Grandma.”
“You mean hell?” I could see the streetlights flashing outside.
Speaking of whom, I hadn’t heard from her in a couple of days. I picked up a book. Only a few pages in,I grew drowsy and lay back on my pillow.
“This cat uses the term ‘double-consciousness’ applying it to the idea that Black people must have two fields of vision at all times.” River read from the book, “‘They must be conscious of how they view themselves, as well as . . . how the world views them . . . an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body . . .’”
“Interesting. Two warring ideals.” I could barely keep my eyes open, but River was on a roll.
“But what if you’re someone like me, an American, a Negro, and a homosexual?”
Finally, he admitted he was gay. I could dig deeper, but to what end? I already knew and suspected he knew I did, too. So, “What if . . .” Was this a rhetorical question about who he was or did he really want my answer? I had no answers at the moment. I turned toward him. “What’s the book again?”
He showed me the cover. “Souls of Black Folk:Essaysand Sketchesby W.E. Burghardt Du Bois. “I need to find a place where I’m free to be who I am.”
“At least you know who you are.” Groggily, I realized I honestly didn’t know who I was or who I wanted to be. Yes, I was Mexican and American but also cursed with an alien grandmother who weighed in on a lot of my thoughts and conversations. River and I shared something in common, a trifecta of consciousnesses. I’d challenge anyone to find a book on that. Plus, I still hadn’t ruled out the possibility of being lesbian because I’d liked kissing Betsy that time, and River when I thought he was a she, so maybe it was more a superfecta of identities, which could be good if you’re betting on a horse.
River rolled onto his stomach. “In the first chapter he uses the metaphor of a veil worn by all African-Americans because their view of the world is way different from those of white people. The veil can be a gift of second sight for Blacks, so it’s both a curse and a blessing.”
“Seems more like a gift of denial.” I laughed. “The only veil I ever wore was in church.”
“Indeed, to shroud the truth,” Grandma added.
“And she’s back.” River laughed. “Sometimes, I do see Grandma as a gift.”
“Well, I’ve looked this gift horse in the mouth my whole life and her presence—pun intended—I’d rather not have.”
With that I rolled over to shut my eyes before the alarm clock went off for the next concert.
***
Later, after our gig at a club filled to the rafters with fans, Tony came into the small dressing room to tell River there was a man outside who wanted to see him—probably someone who wants to hook up with him. I felt that pang of jealousy and told River I sensed a migraine coming on and wanted to head back to the room.
“I don’t want you walking back alone,” he said, turning to Tony. “Walk her back to the room.”
Before I could object, Tony had slung his arm through mine. I wasn’t afraid of him so much as he annoyed the hell out of me. For some reason, River got along with him, but he didn’t know everything, as it would turn out.
“Listen to your gut,” Grandma said as I peeled Tony’s arm away.
“I don’t get how River could possibly tickle your ivories. Don’t you wanna be with a real man?”
“Like who?” I side-eyed him. “Flake-off Tony.”
He laughed as we passed a bar. “I was at Steinway’s that night, you know. River told me it wasn’t him who killed the owner, but I saw everything.” My blood drained to my feet. “I was there, too, and I know more than you think.”
“How ’bout a little nightcap and we solve this mystery?”
I could see the hotel by now only a block away. “Not tonight, Sherlock.” As much as I wanted to know what he thought he knew, I walked away, picking up the pace, constantly checking back over my shoulder until I saw Tony walk into the bar. When I got to my room, I locked my door and wedged a chair under the doorknob.
Taking advantage of my quiet time, I pulled out some matches from the club, inhaling the sulfur smell as I struck one. I thought I’d just about broken the habit, but oh the smell of comfort as I litsome candles. I pulled a bottle of beer from the small fridge and poured some before running a bath with lavender-scented oils. Tony had been fishing and I just needed to wash away his stench.
I lay back remembering scenes from that French book and as I let the warm water from the spigot rush between my legs, I sensed Grandma and immediately shot up. I turned the water off and pulled the plug, but my frustrations would not disappear down the drain. I climbed into my bed and tried to clear my mind, but now I thought of River and wondered who he was with. I thought of Tony and how I’d dodged a bullet and how I was lucky he liked his booze more than he liked the ladies. As I reached over to turn off the light on my nightstand, I noticed the copy of theLifeI’d bought at a newsstand on Main Street. I came across an interesting article about the guru to the Beatles, the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Before long, I fell asleep.
I dreamed I sat lotus-style with Elvis before a giant altar. The dream played out in living Technicolor. Wearing a vivid orange and red lei like he wore in his movieBlue Hawaii.Fire licked my body. His music flooded my dream as my temperature rose higher and higher, burning through to my soul. We levitated to the sounds of tambourines, sitars, and cymbals, his kisses lifting me higher, making love as we ascended over the blue-green ocean which turned out to be a giant bathtub with a spigot spewing like a waterfall. I’d just about reached orgasm when I heard a crash.
Someone had bolted into the room knocking over the chair. I sprang up, theLifeslipping off my heaving chest.
“Shhh! Sorry,” River whispered. “Were you sleeping?”
