I found the blackest, blue-black woman in the world, at least in North America. When she took me between her thighs and into her heart, I reached a level of pleasure, satisfaction, and lust I had never experienced in my forty-five years of life.
I’m spooning in bed with my blue-black woman. I’m stuck to her, literally stuck to her with the glue of our lovemaking. I’m cupping her generous breast in my right hand and breathing in the faint smell of cinnamon and sandalwood in her hair.
She smiles in her sleep, sighs and wiggles her bottom against me. She starting some mess now. Yes, she is. I’m ready for whatever she can bring.
My Cousin Melba’s bar with Melba and my friend, White Rock Road, and my war buddy, Francisco Garcia. I show them Singh’s pictures on my phone.
“Cousin, what the fuck have you done? She, she’s the blackest, blackest thing I have ever, ever seen. She’s blacker than the pit. Blacker than the heart of darkness. Blacker than the grave.”
White Rock snatches the phone from Melba. “Jesus, Melba, you ain’t never lied. Like print in the Bible, black, but comely. Now, I see where that ‘black is beautiful’ stuff comes from. Goddamn she fine.”
Francisco takes the phone and takes a seat at the bar. He is quiet for a long time. He studies the pictures. He crosses himself. He takes the phone and moves to the table furthest from the bar.
I join him. He’s staring at the pictures on the phone.
“This for real, right? No Photoshop shit?” Francisco’s hand holding the phone is shaking, vibrating.
“It’s the real deal.”
He turns the phone over. Puts it on the table face down. Shoves it over to me, hard. Looks at me. “I seen her before. Seen her in a dream. In a dream after my mother died five years ago. Our Lady of Guadalupe is reaching down pulling Mama up to heaven…”
He pauses, looks around, wipes his brow.
“With her right hand pulling my Mama up, and her left hand is stretched back to her… your woman. Your woman is pulling Our Lady of Guadalupe up… or down… hard to tell which way… Your woman turns and looks at me and winks, winks at me.”
Francisco is sober and rational. I’ve known him for nearly twenty years. I married his sister. He stood by us, Nexis and me, through our valley of the shadow of death divorce. He is our daughter’s favorite uncle. I don’t know what to say.
We’re at BWI heading home. She’s in a dress of bright colors and jeweled sandals. She’s radiant. We are laughing and walking and hugging. I’m one happy fool. I turn and lock lips with her. I put my whole body and soul in that kiss and hug. She gives it all back to me and more. In that bright and airy space I could fly away with her. I open my eyes, and we are surrounded by monks. Tibetan, Nepalese or something. Five of them. Bowing with their hands folded in front of them.
Not bowing to me for sure.
My Singh is gracious. She bows back and extends her arms out in front of her. She holds her hands out to them palms up. They each come and hold hands with her for a few seconds. They smile and say a few words in their language. They finally back away smiling.
There is another crowd surrounding us taking pictures of the ceremony.
“Singh, are you really Kali?”
It is our first date at a hot dog stand on 125th street up in Harlem.
She smiles at me and shakes her head no. “That is a rather insensitive question to ask a girl of Indian descent on a first date, don’t you think?”
I’m ashamed. “Sorry, I just… I know you are not a Hindu. I know your folks are Sikhs… I just…” What was I thinking?
“Older than Kali, much older.”
I’m stunned. I look in her eyes. She is laughing at me. With mustard on her cheek, she is laughing at me.
People stop and stare at her. Sometimes babies cry when they see her. Sometimes babies stop crying when they see her. Nobody ignores her, never.
I wonder what it’s like to be that glorious, fearsome black. I mean, she must have caught hell as a child, especially from the other kids. She grew up on a farm near Marysville, California. Did she dream in black and white? Did her siblings and schoolmates mistreat her? And what about dating? Did she have problems getting dates or jobs? Were boys and employers turned off or turned on by her color?
I ask her about all that. She smiles and says being her color has more advantages than disadvantages. She laughs and holds my face and kisses me. No more questions, for a while.
When we first started dating I sent my moms her pictures over the phone.
Moms called as soon as she got the pictures.
“She is extraordinary. Is she real? Are you playing with me? How do you find your women, anyway? Be careful. Learn from you and Nexis, OK? Be careful. If she’s real, I want to meet her. I want to meet her real soon.”
At LAX I’m meeting her, picking her up. She is in her business suit. Lights up like the sun coming up when I pull up. Homeless couple, aged like bad cheese on broken knees, creaks toward her, the woman offers a single perfect pearl and he a silver penknife. My Singh removes a single earring and a silver dollar from her purse in exchange. The couple leaves holding hands with a little spring in their step.
“I had a dream about us. I think it was a dream. I don’t know for sure. You were holding me tight. You had four arms.”
We’re naked eating vanilla ice cream in bed at midnight. She sighs, shakes her head. Her hair flies like a black storm.
“No, I don’t have four arms – not any more. I used to, but I took one pair off to put on you, to protect you when I’m away.” She says it straight-faced without a hint of a smile.
I don’t know if she is just teasing me… Maybe my Singh is… I just don’t know any more. Maybe I’m losing it… I guess… I may never know.
Saturday night. On the Metro in DC, sitting across from each other. Playing footsies. Laughing and giggling like high school kids. She in a short blue dress that picks up the blue in her skin, absolutely amazing. I ain’t the only one thinking that. I can see it in the eyes of the men and women around us.
He come tapping down, down the aisle with his white cane and stop beside her. He is breathing ragged, hard and fast. Slowly he reaches out his hand and places it gently on her shoulder. She never even looks at him. She places her hand over his for a moment. His breathing is deep, regular and easy the rest of the way. I just don’t know.
I do know this. I know this for a fact. This weekend I’m taking her up to her family farm to her favorite place, a little spot along the Yuba River. I’m going to ply her with her favorite foods and drink. I’m going to ask her to marry me. I know she gonna say yes. I know that.
These things I know and that’s all I need to know. All I ever need to know.
And she says YES! Booms it out, pushes the poor Yuba over its bank. Shakes the blossoms from the walnut grove like a spring snow shower. Old earth hiccups in her orbit. The ground shudders. The sun blinks. She shatters me into a thousand pieces and glues me back together stronger than ever.
She says, “YES!” Before I can finish asking. Before I can open the ring box. She says, “YES!” Yes she says, “Yes!”
And I’m on her. In her. Up her. Through her. I seed every cavity. Deep up here ass. Down her throat. Deep into the very end of her.
I’m bestowed with a mule’s spear. On loan from god knows where.
I drink her. Drown in her. I will spit her, piss her, shit her for days to come.
And we are wed. Married. Bonded. We will have a ceremony later for the rest of us.
We face each other, wet with drying sweat. Heart beats in sync.
“Husband, what is your desire?”
“Wife, you are my desire.”
“That simple? That easy?”
“Aaaww just you and children.”
“Children! How dare you demand that of me, now at this time, this sacred moment?”
“Three. I think. No more than that.”
“You make a brood mare of me now? You should have made your intentions clear before we-”
“I made my intentions clear the first time I touched you. Bumped your shoulder by accident on purpose at the airport. Transmitted all the terms and conditions of our marriage. You glared at me, a laser that would melt steel, set water on fire.”
“Yes, yes you did. I remember now. You did. You did not melt or burn or blink. Your look said: ‘Is that the best you can do?’ I do now remember.”
“Yes brood mare, lover, whore, best friend, worst foe and lots more.”
“Husband soothe me again. Make me remember and forget.”
And we renew our vows again and again.
Banner photograph: “Kali 002”. Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.5 via Wikimedia Commons – http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Kali_002.jpg#/media/File:Kali_002.jpg