Love Knows No Color Pt. 21

After Grandma Duncan's funeral, I was in a daze for a long time. As Grandpap had told me, Shavonda was willing and able to be the rock I needed, the steadying influence in a life that seemed out of control. I was stressed out from work. As usual, summertime was extremely busy and my truck was often either maxed out on weight or floor space. Both were a pain to deal with, either the extreme weight causing me to have to take extra care driving, or the truck full of lighter items would be an incoherent mess as the loaders stacked the loose items on top of the palletized freight without regard to who it was to be delivered to. A few times, I overlooked items for a specific customer, only to find them later after it was too late to turn around.

Of all the things I hauled, rebar was the most problematic. It was used to make forms for poured concrete, for reinforcement. Rebar was steel rods in various diameters, with ½ inch being the most common. We sold it in 10 foot and 20 foot lengths, in bundles of usually 150 pieces. Due to its weight, it had to be laid on the floor of the trailer. That meant that any palletized freight had to be stacked on top of it. Often that meant that the rebar had to be dug out from underneath other customers' orders, necessitating unloading and reloading of up to half the truck.

The ten footers were more of a pain in the ass than anything else, but the 20 foot lengths were another story altogether. To be honest, nothing I hauled really scared me except those 20 foot rebar. Lifting them with a forklift was like picking up wet spaghetti. The weight caused the ends to droop and bounce. There was a lethal amount of energy hidden in those bundles. This point was driven home one afternoon in Punxsutawney, when an inexperienced forklift driver started to back up before he had lifted the rebar fully clear of the trailer. The ends dragged along the floor, threatening to pull the whole bundle from his forks. Lucky for the both of us, the ends reached the side of the trailer before they could slide off the forks. But once clear of the trailer, they snapped back with bone crushing force, almost causing him to lose control. Nobody got hurt in this little demonstration of kinetic energy, but it was frightening to watch.

Having Shavonda to come home to was a godsend. Often, she'd run me a bath, and gently wash the road dirt off me. She had also started using her lotions and oils on my skin. Not that I needed them, but it sure felt good having her rub me down.

One evening, after my bath, I laid down on the couch. In my sleep, I heard Ethan and Brittany talking to Shavonda. They were worried about me.

"Why is Daddy so sad all the time?" Ethan asked.

"That lady in the coffin was his Grandma," Shavonda explained gently. "He misses her a lot. She never got to meet me or Miracle, and Daddy blames himself for that. Want to cheer him up? Play with him. Tell him how much you love him."

Shavonda was right. I did blame myself. If only I'd have taken her and the baby to meet Grandma maybe things would have been different. But they weren't. and she'd gone to her grave still avoiding me and my black wife. And while I was glad Grandpap had come around after meeting Shavonda, it also made me sad to think that Grandma might have done the same, if she'd only gotten to know Shavonda. Then again, she might never have accepted her. Aunt Nora certainly hadn't.

"You can't beat yourself up over what might have been," my ebony queen said gently one night as she held me close in bed. As usual, we were naked. We had slept that way since we met, and I found great comfort in her soft brown skin. "What you think would have happened if we just showed up? She might have run you off and told you not to come back. Could you have handled that?" In all honesty, it would have hurt like hell to be openly rejected solely because of who God had chosen as my life mate. And that was the reason I'd stayed away until it was too late. I was afraid of being rejected.

After that, I noticed the kids spending more time around me instead of playing in the yard or their room. I truly enjoyed playing with them. Shavonda and I taught them several games, including Uno and checkers. We often played a game in the evenings after my bath.

That Thursday, I was surprised when I came off the road to find Shavonda waiting for me in her wine red Cruze, wearing a blue halter dress I'd never seen before with her usual summer sandals. As I climbed down out of my Kenworth, she greeted me with a tight hug. "Baby," she said, "Tonight we try to heal you. Mama has the baby for the night, and Barbara has the kids for the weekend."

We took the turnpike to New Stanton, where she'd reserved a room for us. After a quick shower, I was ready to face the world again. Dinner was at Cracker Barrel, where I ordered the biggest steak they had and Shavonda had liver and onions. I looked at her as she ordered, mouthing the words, "Are You....?" She shook her head no. It was just as well. I needed to get my head right before we brought another life into this world.

After dinner, we went back to the room. Shavonda had brought a bottle of rum, and she poured me a stiff drink. Rum and Dr. Pepper. The drink that I'd never had until I met her. The one that was now my favorite, and the one that would always remind me of our first night of passion. But tonight, we just lay on the bed for a while, fully clothed, kissing. We let our hands wander, but made no move to strip each other. It just didn't seem the time. Our kiss was more gentle than passionate, the kind that says I care and I'm here for you.

"Jason," she whispered. "You know I love you right? I'm here for you. Don't you try to do this alone. We are together now, that means we share the burdens. You gave me total support when I went through the rough spots. Let me do the same for you."

I let her words sink in, not giving her an answer. She was right. I did need to let some of it go, so that she could help me. Why was it so hard to do? I'd tried to be a rock too long. As I looked back at what we'd gone through with the trials my stress levels had been through the roof. I'd put all my energy into making sure Shavonda was ok, that she weathered the storm. I hadn't been concerned about my own well-being.

Grandma Duncan's death had changed that. It had been the final straw. Actually, the final straw had ironically been Grandpap's grudging acceptance of Shavonda and our marriage. Had he outright rejected her, it would have been easier to deal with because I would have known there had been nothing I could do to gain acceptance of our relationship from that side of the family. But he didn't reject her, and I would forever wonder if I'd only reached out to them would Grandma have accepted us as well? That uncertainty, and the guilt that went with it, were the final straw.

I didn't want my life to unravel. We'd worked too hard to build what we now had, both separately as single people in search of true love, and later together as we combined our resources into something beautiful. I didn't want to lose any of that. I didn't want to lose the love and respect of the one person whose opinion mattered more to me than anything else in the world. Yet I felt powerless to stop myself from unravelling. I needed to come to terms with my life, which objectively wasn't bad. I needed to destress.

We lay there in each other's arms for a long time, me taking refuge in her softness. I was lucky to have her. I didn't have to go through it alone, if only I'd let her in.

Eventually, we got up and walked across the street to the tavern where our friends Darren and Minnie hosted Friday night karaoke. They greeted us warmly when we entered. Minnie had her long dark hair pulled back in a long braid similar to my own, looking just like a squaw. I stared at her as it dawned on me. "Are you Indian?" I asked.

"Seneca," she replied.

"Me too," I answered. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"You never asked," she said.

In the meantime, Shavonda had been discussing songs with Darren. Eventually, she made her selections, filling out the slips and handing them to Darren. She sat down to wait her turn at the mike. We shared a pitcher of Yuengling as we talked to Minnie who'd come to sit with us while her husband ran the karaoke. I didn't normally drink beer, but tonight it just felt right.

When Shavonda's turn came up, the song was "The Closer I Get to You" which was a duet. She pulled me out of my seat, saying, "Tonight you are singing with me. You know this song. We've made love to it many times. Don't worry about the other people. Concentrate on me. Sing this to me. Nobody else exists. You can do this."

I'd sung before, and had gotten comfortable with my voice, though I still preferred playing bass. But it had always been in front of friends and family. This was different. We were in a bar full of strangers. I gulped nervously, and with alcohol lowering my inhibitions, I sang with her. I sang the song to her, gazing deep into her eyes the whole time. As the song ended, Shavonda pulled me into a tight embrace, slow dancing with me. I had to admit, it felt good to be up there, professing my love for this exquisite creature in front of the crowd.

With the song finished, we handed the microphones back to Darren and returned to our seats, as an older man yelled, "Get a room!"

Shavonda, without missing a beat, said, "Oh, it's you. And we do have a room." She'd recognized the man who'd heckled her a couple times before, and good naturedly responded.

"How's the baby?" he responded.

"She's crawling now, and staying the night with my Mama," Shavonda replied.

Minnie was still seated at the table, and when we sat down she said," Now that wasn't so bad was it, Jason. I knew you could sing. We heard you at the anniversary party."

"Yes," I replied. "But it's a lot different without a guitar strapped to me, in front of a room full of strangers."

Later, Shavonda did her version of "Save Me," the Nikki Minaj song that seemed tailor made for her voice. I sat in awe of her performance. God I was in love with this woman.

Afterward, we made our way back to our room, where we quickly disrobed before cuddling on the bed. It was funny. We'd been intimate, meaning sex, for more than two years now. And believe me, I was not in the least bit tired of her in bed. But our intimacy had long ago progressed beyond the merely sexual, to a deep spiritual connection. And tonight, just being held, knowing that she loved me enough to help me through my weak moments without ever questioning my manhood, was more intimate than any amount of sex could be.

We let our hands roam each other's bodies, caressing each other, in no hurry for penetration. Sometime during the night a bottle of coconut oil appeared, and we began a leisurely massage session, with me rubbing her down first, then her returning the favor. It ended up with her breast in my mouth, the sweet milk soothing me in way nothing else ever could. She smiled at me, watching me as I greedily drained her. "That's it, baby," she cooed, "Mama's here. It's all right."

It was almost dawn when we finally made it to penetration, having licked at and sucked on various body parts most of the night. I slipped inside her with ease. We were both ready, but neither of us was in a hurry. We'd orally pleased each other earlier, which took the edge off. As a matter of fact, we'd concentrated on the touching and oral so much I hadn't been sure I'd even wind up inside her. We were operating, as we often did now, on pure instinct.

What Shavonda had in mind had worked. At least for a little while, I didn't feel so overwhelmed by the conflicting feelings I had over Grandma's passing. We quickly found a nice, natural rhythm as we moved against each other, in no hurry to finish. We made slow, passionate love as the dawn lightened the room around us. Our release, when it finally came, was almost anticlimactic. I was exhausted by that time. After all, I'd been up for over 24 hours straight. I fell asleep still buried within my queen.

Shavonda let me sleep until almost checkout time, then gently woke me. On the way back into town, while listening to Radiohead, we had a heart to heart talk. "Jason," Shavonda said, "Don't you freak out on me. You were created especially for me, and I can't lose you. Whatever it takes to get your head right again we will do. You're my world."

"I love you too. I don't mean to put you through this. I'm supposed to be strong for you. And right now I am not."

"We have to be strong for each other," Shavonda replied, shaking her head. "Right now I am the stronger one, so I'll carry the burden until you can deal with it. You did the same for me many times."

"It still feels wrong to me. But I'll try to let go a little for you."

"Can I tell you something?" Shavonda asked. I nodded my head so she continued. "I know that you are turned on by our different colors, but did you know I feel the same? Especially that Indian part of you. I find it incredibly sexy knowing you are Seneca."

I smiled. This woman was too good to be true. And come to think of it, tired as I was from lack of sleep, I felt a little better after last night. I still had a long way to go to get back to normal, but at least I was headed in the right direction, with Shavonda gently guiding me along.

Arriving back in the Pittsburgh suburbs, we stopped off at Althea's to pick up Miracle. Althea said to Shavonda, "Guess you made him feel better."

Shavonda laughed, "I wore his ass out." Althea gave me a funny look, eyebrows raised. "Well, Von, you certainly seem none the worse for wear." She chuckled. "But I can see Jason looks beat to hell."

"Yeah," Shavonda said. "Boy didn't get much sleep. Probably has a sore tongue too." She laughed as I turned red. Althea smiled.

"You took good care of her, huh?" Althea said. I smiled, embarrassed. "I think I'm a little jealous." Turning serious, she said, "Jason, you know this family loves you. We know you're going through some shit right now. But don't beat yourself up over what you should have done. You can't go back and change things. It isn't your fault she never met Von and the baby. She knew where to find you. She could have come to you, but she didn't. It's ok to feel some kinda way, but remember you have a wife and 3 kids who need you more than you'll ever know. We're here for you. Matter of fact, Von taking you out for the night was my idea. Looks like your queen ran with it." She chuckled.

"It wasn't so long ago that you'd have thrown me out of the house for attempting what we did last night," I answered.

"Well, back then I didn't know you. To me you were just some whiteboy trying to get into Von's pants. Never did I guess I'd get 3 beautiful grandbabies out the deal. And I truly thank you for being there for her through everything."

We chatted for a while. I had been hoping James would be there too, but he was at work. The railroad never sleeps. But since he was off the next day, I invited Althea and James over for a cookout. I'd have to call Kenny and invite him and Edie as well. I had a question about something I'd read in the timetable Scott had sent us. Kenny knew that railroad well, and James was a signalman, and I hoped between the three of us we'd be able to figure out an answer to my technical question.

That morning was the fourth of July. We were invited to a cookout at Brian and Tamika's house. I liked what Brian had done with the place since I'd moved out a year ago. He was a demolition carpenter by trade, who went into buildings being torn down and carefully salvages anything of value. Pittsburgh being full of hundred-year-old houses, there were plenty of ornate bannisters, mantelpieces, and other intricate woodwork that could never be duplicated at any cost. Brian had redone my old house with a lot of salvaged woodwork taken from houses in far more affluent neighborhoods. The result had turned my house into a gem.

Miracle cooed happily, basking in the attention from Tamika's side of the family. Somebody asked Tamika if she wanted a baby. "I do, but we waiting until after the wedding. I can't wait. But until then, I'll just have to borrow Von's baby." The wedding was only six weeks away, and there was an excitement in the air. Tamika's wedding would be far different than ours was. We'd only had 3 months to get everything together, because Shavonda had wanted to be married on the anniversary of our first date. Brian and Tamika had a lot longer to plan things, so their ceremony would be more elaborate.

I tried to imagine Tamika pregnant. She was a big girl, full figured with large breasts and wide hips. I wondered how much weight she'd gain. Shavonda had gained 32 lbs, filling out in an adorable way. I kinda missed her full belly, missed blowing bubbles on her stomach to get a reaction from our unborn child.

Yes it was still legally my house. Brian and Tamika wouldn't have the money to purchase it until after their wedding in August. Until then, I still held title to it, and charged them rent equal to my mortgage payment.

A pleasant surprise was the Zuccheros attending the cookout. They had befriended Tamika and Brian, the same as they'd done with me years earlier. Mrs Zucchero was something of a neighborhood busybody, so she was a good person to have on your side. Nothing got past her. We hadn't seen them since the wedding, so this was the first time they'd gotten to meet Miracle.

"It's so good to see you two," Mrs. Zucchero said. "We missed having you around. Not that we don't like Brian and Tamika, but they're not you. Tamika told us you had a baby. She's gorgeous!"

With Miracle happily cooing on my lap, I replied. "We named her Miracle. Von wasn't able to have children, but somehow this miracle baby arrived. We've been doing pretty well so far."

"The baby is crawling now," Shavonda said, "And she's teething. SO far it hasn't been too bad. She gets cranky every now and then, but she hasn't been in a lot of pain." She pulled up the baby's lip to show the two front teeth that had come in already. "She's already eating solid food. My little ladybug loves her applesauce."

"Do you bottle feed her?"

"Yes and no. We keep breast milk in bottles so anybody can feed her, but mostly it's me breastfeeding her. She's never had a drop of formula. We try to give her solid food at least once a day." Shavonda explained, then noticing the quizzical look on Mrs Zucchero's face, added. "Yes, Jason takes an active part in feeding her. He's been really good about helping with all the baby chores, diapers, baths, playtime."

"Jason, you seem a little down," Tamika said. "Is something wrong?"

"I lost my Grandma two weeks ago," I replied. I hadn't realized my sadness was that obvious.

"No way!" Tamika exclaimed, "Not sweet old Grandma from the wedding?"

"No," Shavonda said. "Not her. She still around. This was Jason's other Grandma, the one who wouldn't come to the wedding. The one I never got to meet. We went to the funeral, and his Grandpa made peace with us. Now Jason has this idea that if we'd only gone to see them before she died, she would have accepted us too."

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Jason," Mrs. Zucchero said softly. "One thing I've learned in life is you can't go back and change things once they're done. You'll never know what might have happened. Maybe she'd have accepted your wife and baby, Maybe not. She might have disowned you. You'll never know for sure. You can spend the rest of your life wishing things were different, or you can put it behind you and take care of the beautiful wife and kids you have. I'd enjoy what I have and not worry too much about what I lost, because the older you get the more people you're going to lose."

I must admit, she had a point. But why was it so hard to just let go?