T H I S T I M E
By
Margaret Johnson-Hodge
Copyrighted by Margaret Johnson-Hodge. All rights reserved.
EXCERPT: CHAPTER ONE
"Broken heart again. Another lesson learned…"
The music was too loud, Dajah knew that, but she was in one of her ‘got to cleanse myself’ moods and Mary J. Blige had both the words and the vocals to do it. "No More Drama," had become the new soundtrack in Dajah Moore’s life.
Dajah wanted to say that Rick had done this to her. She wanted to point a finger at Gina, Rick’s ex-girlfriend, and Kanisha, Rick and Gina’s daughter. But the truth was, Dajah had done this to herself. She had decided to get with a man who had a child with someone else. Dajah was the one who had given up her heart and soul to make it work, creating nothing but heartache for herself and a second chance between Rick and Gina.
Rick, Gina and Kanisha now had the victory and Dajah had been left all alone by the roadside even though, with words at least, Rick had picked her.
"I chose you," Rick had uttered that December morning. But his words had come a little too late. Too many days had passed while Dajah waited for Rick to make up his mind. Within that void, Dajah had returned to her center. She’d returned to who she’d been before Rick happened.
The Dajah before Rick had never done ‘share.’ The Dajah before Rick had never considered getting with a man who had a child with someone else. Yet somehow, Rick had managed to change all her parameters. He wiped away all of her set boundaries and in a heartbeat, Dajah had found herself not only involved with Rick, but in love.
Together they had managed their way through the baby mamma dramas that Gina had forced upon them. Together they had navigated a life where Rick’s daughter Kanisha became their center. For a little while, it seemed to be working. But then Gina had changed, going from a loud, uncouth, uncaring young mother to a woman who understood that the only way forward was to grow up.
Gina’s growth, maturity and new-found goals had been the start of it, changing how Rick saw her, changing how Rick saw Dajah. And though, in the end, he still desired a life with Dajah, Rick’s daughter came first and Dajah couldn’t be second.
Stop thinking about him. But it was all Dajah could do. In the three weeks that had passed since she walked away. In those three weeks since she had uttered into the phone that cold almost Christmas morning, "But I don’t chose you," and felt her own heart break over her decision, Rick was all she could think about.
Mary J. was gearing up, the power of her voice, "Go ‘head. Go ‘head," was diesel driven. Mary urged, forcing the ugly conflicts from her soul. Dajah sang along, wanting them gone too.
She stood in the middle of her living room, head back, arms out, mouth opened. Face pinched, body racked in ethereal pain, Dajah sang along. Hungry for the deliverance, desperate for reprieve, she bellowed, "I need a peace of mind, peace of mind…" as Mary wailed it.
Caught up, her feet left the floor, making her bounce and buck. Caught up, she didn’t hear the ringing phone. Caught up, she wasn’t aware of the commotion she was making over the heads of Mr. and Mrs. Merriweather, owners of the two-family house Dajah lived in.
Dajah was in the midst of revival and nothing could take her from it because the Spirit had her. The Spirit of Redemption. The Spirit of Salvation. The Spirit of ‘everything’s gonna be alright.’ She couldn’t stop.
Dajah couldn’t finish one second before Mary J. Blige did. She could not close her mouth, cease the motion of her feet. She could not stop waving her arms, the jerking of her neck. She was a hostage and only the end of the song could set her free.
As the soft drifts of the soap opera theme song faded, she came back to herself. That’s when she heard knocks on her door. Panting and out of breath, she opened it, knowing who would be there and why. The music had been too loud, her stomps too hard for it not to be her landlord.
"We heard all this stomping Dajah," Mr. Merriweather began.
Dajah tried to smile, but that took more energy than she had. "I was just doing some exercise. I guess I got carried away."
The older couple stared beyond her into the apartment, noses aloft for whiffs of marijuana, eyes keen for signs of destruction.
Mrs. Merriweather scrutinized her. "And the music was loud. We rang you and everything."
Dajah nodded, caught. "Sorry. It’s my favorite song. I must have turned it up too high."
"You’re a good tenant Dajah. All the years you’ve been here, we never had any trouble with you. But blasting your music and stomping over our heads isn’t acceptable. You understand?"
"Yes, I understand and it won’t happen again."
But that’s all Dajah wanted–one more round with Mary. Mary and the music. Mary and the Spirit. Mary and the Holy Ghost fire save-me-Lord-Jesus music. Because for those few minutes, she felt born again. For those few minutes she had the hope.
For those few minutes Dajah had the peace Mary J. Blige had sung about. And that’s all Dajah really wanted. She wanted some peace.
~~~
If she had known what would become of her life two hours after her soul revival, Dajah would have played the song a second time, possibly a third. If she had known what she’d be facing before the night ended, she would have shored up more reserve while she still had the chance.
But she hadn’t and three simple words turned Dajah Moore’s world upside down.
Three simple words snatched the rug from under her feet and sent her tumbling. Three simple words—think about it, slipped her back into a time and place she swore she wouldn’t travel anymore. The deliverer of that detonation: Rick Trimmons.
Dajah had walked away from Rick, the drama and the madness. She had said ‘no more’ to Rick’s baby’s momma Gina and all that mess that situation entailed. That almost Christmas morning in 2002, Dajah had spoke words that broke her own heart but she had survived it. At least she thought she had.
She never suspected later on that evening that Rick would pull up to her place in the black SUV and ring her bell. Dajah never considered that she would answer the ring and open the door to him. She didn’t count on just the sight of him jump-starting her heart.
But it did.
Her doorbell had rung. She had gone downstairs to answer it. Without checking, she opened the door and saw him there. Dajah blinked in surprise. "Rick?"
"Hey."
She blinked again, the sight of him, a shock to her senses. Her defenses failed her. Her resolved vanished. Her face crumbled and Rick, sensing her sapping strength, reached out and took her into his arms.
The feel of his hands sliding about her waist, the touch of his fingers dancing on her spine, turned every bone in her to Jell-O. She leaned into him, her face burrowing in the soft weave of his North Pole down. Nose deep against it, she became lost in the best of times, the worst far, far away.
It felt good. Delicious. Real. Rick holding her like that made all the sorrow, the loneliness and the deep sense of betrayal less valid. It made the horrors fade in the distance, infusing her with good times.
There at her front door, light spilling behind her, the dark night before her, Dajah surrendered. She surrendered because after three weeks of not having it, she needed Rick’s embrace.
It seemed a lifetime before she pulled away, gathering pieces of herself lost in his arrival. Eons zipped by as she righted herself, tried to still her heart, her mind full of too many thoughts.
Her head moved side to side. Her forehead furrowed as she forced words from her mouth. "This isn’t right. You’re not supposed to be here."
That there were tears in her eyes surprised neither of them. Something deep and real had been cleaved when she left him. In this moment, a healing was taking place. But the tears in her eyes served a purpose. It reaffirmed what Rick felt and thought. No, they weren’t finished.
A lump formed in his throat. Rick swallowed, gazing at her. "I made a lot of mistakes Dajah. I know that now. And I know I’m not supposed to be here. I know you said we were over, but I couldn’t stay away. I couldn’t. Y’know?"
Yes, she did. It was in the very air she breathed. It swirled up around her like a tornado on the horizon. Despite the oncoming danger, she couldn’t turn away. Her body grew tense, bracing for the impact.
"I was so wrong about everything," Rick went on to say. "I should have never put Kanisha before my own happiness. I should have never made you second. I know what’s important now and what’s important is you. I came to ask for a second chance."
What had been forgotten came back at the mention of Kanisha, Rick’s five-year-old daughter. Suddenly the hard cold truth of what life had been like with Rick was front and center—none of it pretty.
Sorrow spun into anger. Relief churned into disbelief. "Another chance to do what?"
"Make it work right between us."
Dajah’s head began shaking again, but it was with a different conviction than before. Conflict and confusion disappeared. "It’s too late for any of that."
"Will you think about it at least? Just think about it. You don’t have to tell me now. Take some time, as much as you need. But at least think about it."
Dajah stood in her doorway, the chilled January night rushing past her, mocking the warmth of her sweat pants and the cotton top she had on. She hugged her chest, ran fingers along her exposed forearm, looked beyond Rick, seeking answers.
She settled her gaze and fixed her eyes on the man who had disturbed so much in her life. She took in the one who had made her break so many rules, she’d stop counting.
She wasn’t supposed to be here in this place. She wasn’t supposed to be entertaining any new possibilities with Rick. Although she had walked away brokenhearted, she had walked away. Her life was never supposed to involve him ever again.
"Please?" Rick asked again, his voice more plea then question and Dajah found herself back in the struggle. "Will you at least think about it?"
In the weeks since she said goodbye, Dajah had struggled to combat her loneliness. She’d struggled to live her life in truth. She’d struggled to hold onto optimism that somewhere out there, the next man was waiting for her even as memories of Rick haunted her every minute of the day.
Dajah had struggled with accepting that she still loved and missed him. She’d struggled past all the times she wanted him still. She’d struggled not to call and struggled with the notion that leaving him was best. But this moment was the hardest struggle of them all.
Because I still love him.
There it was, her bottom line. There it was, her ultimate truth. She had promised herself no more lies. No more half-truths. She had promised herself last New Year’s that, from that point on she would be honest about everything. And the truth was, her love for him had not decreased one iota. The truth was, she had to look into his eyes, those eyes, and admit it.
She knew all that she would see when she did. Dajah knew all that she would feel. The love between them had been real though crippled. Real and still there, something whispered. Still there and right in front of you. All you have to do to see it is look.
She did and the impact was as powerful as she imagined.
She found herself drowning in the big, wide, dark-brown pools of his eyes. Drowning in those little boy wonders, so deep and endless, they looked back lit. Allen Iverson eyes, came an after thought.
"What about Gina?" she found herself asking.
"What about her?"
"You were getting closer to her when we broke up."
"Was. Not anymore. That’s finished."
"Finished?"
"Done," he affirmed.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you so sure this time."
He took her hand, raised it to his lips. Kissed the back of it. "Because you’re the only one I love."
Dajah snatched her hand as if burned. Rubbed it, erasing the feel of his lips against her skin. She didn’t want any mementos after she closed the door to him. She didn’t need any part of him to linger.
Fixing him squarely with her eyes, something hard glowed in their depths. "I’ll think about it," she said quickly, stepping back and closing her front door. With trembling fingers, she locked it, leaned against the wood, her heart thrumming in her chest.
He had messed up. He missed her. Things had changed and he wanted a second chance. The question was—did she?