The Heart of Revenge (13 page)

The front row of chairs was seated with close
friends and family all smiling and antsy with anticipation. The
anxiety in the church was weird, it’s not like the regular ones at
most weddings where the guests were happy anticipating a joyous
matrimonial union. It was more a type of wonder, wondering if this
marriage would go through or not. Would he say yes? Would I say no?
Qwan had long decided, and I was on the border of yes. No. Yes. No.
My mind in total anarchy.

Our neighbour, Ms. Merl, arrived late. She
was a little bit wobbly coming through the second side door. She
tried not to disrupt the wedding, walking with quiet, apologetic
steps against the white walls and long rows of chairs. She found
her way into the third row upfront, wrapping her orange,
wide-skirted dress around her legs as she slipped down by seated
guests to midway the row, right behind Munchy and Vance. The stocky
pastor’s shiny cheeks sunk into a dimple, deep enough to catch a
paint pan of water from when he greeted Ms. Merl with a smile. He
dipped his head with a small bow approvingly at Ms. Merl taking her
seat. I looked above his low-cut gray hair to the brown wooden
clock on the wall, studied the time. I felt my stomach twisted
instantly. Only minutes away. I felt the sharp blade of a knife
twisting both directions in my stomach.

Pastor Ellis looked through his gold frame
glasses reading from Corinthians fourteen in his black Bible. My
mind’s in strides. I wanted to grab my belly bottom, suck my
finger. I fidgeted with my fingers and looked over at Vance. My
heart was collapsing.

Pastor Ellis stood so close by me and Qwan on
the wooden step that led to the empty pulpit, that as he read, I
smelt his hot breath. It wasn’t a bad odour, but I could smell that
he had ackee and salt-fish for breakfast or someone’s saltfish for
his breakfast.

Wow. Qwan was just gorgeous, cladded in his
full white Armani suit and powder pink tie. His taste in fashion
had never been slighted, always on point. Except for today. Not
that I am picky or anything, but I wished his pants were two inch
closer to the ground, and I had said it to him when he tried on the
suit, but I remembered his baritone voice saying with much chirp to
it,

“It’s perfect. Nothing’s wrong with it, it’s
the exact length I wanted. It’s an Italian fit boo. This is the
length it’s supposed to have. Not long down and sweeping the
floor.”

I didn’t want it to actually be touching the
floor or sweeping it, but two inches more wouldn’t hurt either. It
was close to showing his socks when he walked. But that’s how he
wore all his clothes exact, close-fitted to his muscular sculpted
body and bow legs.

He had been smiling like a pleased chimpanzee
as he tried on the suit, showing his two sharp and pointed teeth at
either side of his mouth that made his smile stand out. He turned
and wheeled around in the full length mirror. Checking out his suit
at different angles. I imagined it was Ajrien in the suit. That it
was Ajrien I was marrying.

“Perfect.” He smiled, he spun his back to the
mirror, holding the lapels of the white jacket, head turned behind
him, smile widening.

“This is perfect boo.” I walked out the room.
It disrupted the smile on his face.

“Where you going?”

“To get something.”

“What?” I reached by the long bladed knife in
the kitchenette.

“Something.”

“What?”

“Our favourite. Just wait.”

I returned with some Grey Goose Vodka, two
liquor glasses and no ice.

“Lee?”

“What? Stop acting like a girl.”

“Lee!”

“What?” I shrugged.

“That’s your favourite, not mine. You know I
turn into an idiot when I drink.”

“Qwan, we celebrating. What’s better to
celebrate, than with Vodka.”

“Leeee.” His expression got stern. “I don’t
want to drink no vodka.”

“Baby please, you got to, we celebrating our
marriage. You gonna be my husband in the next three weeks. Aren’t
you happy?”

“Not happy enough to beat and abuse you.”

“Don’t worry. I can take it.” I poured out
two full glasses, gulped down one in one heads-up and refilled
mine.

“Lee, I hate when I hit you, and you know
that’s what the drinking does to me. I’m never drinking with you
again. I’m serious this time. You not making me. This shit is
tearing me apart.”

“Hear me complaining?” He folded his forehead
and squinted his eyes.

“This shit needs to stop! I’m not drinking
any Vodka and you need to STOP.” I went straight ahead and took a
shot, drank half glass, one swallow.

“This the only thing that makes me happy. Why
you want to ruin me? Why won’t you make me happy?” I motioned the
glass forward, “Drink.”

“Stop being an ass Lee. Making you happy or
hurting the only woman I love? Our marriage will be hopeless if you
don’t kick that habit. Make any sense to you?”

“Relax honey, just drink with me man. Let’s
get ontop of the world. Whenever you do it with me, I’m on top of
the world. Just the two of us in our crazy little world.” He smiled
with disbelief, shook his head at my pressing determination. I
wanted him to share the moment with me, live a little, be on the
edge a little, be a bit more stern and aggressive with me, be like
Ajrien.

“You’re a nut case, you know that?” The look
in his eyes sounded as if he was tired of this, “You’re damn
crazy.”

“We crazy boo. It’s our world, me and you,
just me and you. Our crazy world.” I handed him the glass. He
gently pushed it back to me with the back of his hand,

“I can’t live with myself hurting you, I
don’t want to.” I drank my glass empty and poured some more,
thinking he is so soft sometimes; such a bitch. I wish he’d harden
up, be a man. Drink.

“Qwan please, just until we get married. I
promise I won’t force you to drink with me after we are
married.”

“No ...” He stopped. Thought for the small
time between two seconds. “Well, I will but...” his eyes were soft
as he gazed into mine. “Promise me you will stop this drinking
too.” He looked far into my eyes. “Please.” I didn’t answer,
“Please Lee.”It sounded like forcing more than asking.

“I promise.” I knew that promise was out of
my league, but I lied. “I PROMISE Qwan.” He kept his gaze into my
eyes, took the glass from me, drank a sip and walked into the
kitchenette.

I heard ransacking and rattles in the
kitchen. What the hell?

“What in the world you doing inside there
Qwan?”

“Keeping our promise.” Contrarily to the
ransacking I heard, his voice sounded calm and level-headed.

Things got louder. I heard glasses being
smashed. ‘Spa-shenk! Spa-shenk! Spa-shenk!’ I hurled into the
kitchenette. Damn. He got so violent when he drinks. It’s like he
morphed into being a raging machine.

“Already? You drunk!” He flung the last of
the six bottles of Vodka into the wall. Broken Grey Goose bottles
on the floor mixed with froths and bubbles. ‘Spa-shenk!’

“You getting mad Qwan! Stop it, stop it!”

“Only three weeks left. What the hell we
gonna do with all this Vodka? Keep them here just to tempt you to
pick up back drinking. A deal is a deal. No drinking after we are
married?”

I stomped over to him, my hand smite him
right across his cheek, ‘CLACK!’ his face slashed around, his teeth
seemed to clatter.

“You! ... Wasteful!... Inconsiderate! ...
Arrghh!” I searched for words. “Little ... fucker!”

“That’s all?” He asked smiling, with his sexy
side teeth surprisingly still in place. He grabbed me by the arm,
pulled me in, the front of my body leaning on his white suit, belly
to belly, I could feel his hard chest. I wiggled myself in an anger
tantrum. He overpowered me to a calm. Looked into my eyes. I held
my head down, not wanting to look back in his. He placed his finger
under my chin, pulling my face skyward to his, kissed me, pressing
his lips firmly into mine, his eyes closed. He spoke with his mouth
so close to mine. His breath, so seductive.

“I can’t wait to be your husband.” I rested
my head into his chest with love, wrapped my arms around his
obliques. Looked floorward. Sighed. A little more than a sigh, it
was a longer exhale that travelled from below my heart. I felt as
if I were building a mansion on quicksand. I wasn’t sure what to
reply. I didn’t want to lie. I replied in a very simple tone,

“I know.”

I kept on building my mansion on the
quicksand.

by: Leelia Lexings

Pinky’s friend, Munchy, the devil, would not
have the decency in her to squat her ass down and stop taking
pictures while Pastor Ellis is reading from the Bible. Pinky did
zit to discourage it.

The rotund Munchy, posed, leaning to her
left, one hand on her knee holding her weight while the other hand
akimbo. Pinky snapped the picture. Everyone in the church stoned
them, dog rotten, with their hard stares of incredulity. That was
exactly what the disruptive Siamese twins wanted- attention. Before
Munchy could even tweet the picture, Pinky posed, pushing her
elephantine bumper to Munchy’s BB phone.

“Take mi picture. Catch this one Munchy.”

The church was blessed with three bright
flashes as Munchy snapped away in fantastic paparazzi style,
spinning her BB flat, then tall, fitting Pinky in the screen,
cross-way, - snapped, then longitudinally, - snapped.

“Ladies!” Pastor Ellis eyes toad-out, his
obese nose-hole widened, nose hairs sticking out of his two dark
caves.

“Take your seats!” His body jerked, his harsh
voice rumbled in the church as if he had yelled through a mic.

“This is not WEDDY WEDDY WEDNESDAY!”

At the sound of the thundering command,
Munchy froze, her face knitted and her eyes feistily piercing the
pastor. Her bulgy ass reluctantly went downward to her seat,
fingers pressing buttons on her BB as she jeered Pastor Ellis loud
enough for the entire church to hear,

“See you damn face look like bullfrog back.
Bout take seats, hsst.” She plopped down her hind meat in the seat
and stuck out her broad tongue, zipped it back in then rocked her
head side to side, teasing,

“ABAY make you ugly. You don’t cute!
ABAAYYY!”

The pastor resumed. Munchy snapped Pastor
Ellis’ pic and tweeted. I could just imagine the caption under his
handsome picture.

“Will you take this woman to be your lawful
wedded wife?” The pastor looked to Qwan.

by: Leelia Lexings

Within an eye-beat Qwan answered firm and
loud.

“I DO!” And immediately sentimental water
build up in my eyes.

A burst of joy on Qwan’s face when he saw how
overwhelmed and schmaltzy I was. He was mistaking my tears for
tears of joy. He gazed deeper into my water-puddled eyes; he saw
the truth. The joy crawled out his face and left it pale and his
eyes weak. The water grew higher over my gray eyes. Qwan felt the
hesitant shakes in my left hand he held on to.

“And do you ...” Pastor Ellis turned to me,
“take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?” Pastor Ellis
smiled. Qwan’s hand that held mine shook, a slight twitch. I gazed.
My heart racing, beads of sweat on my nose, my armpits felt
clustered with the hot sweat forming. It made me feel even more
uneasy. The sweat trickled down my underarm unto my strapless gown.
I swallowed my spit, racing my thought. YES. No. Yes. What about
lastnight? I shouldn’t marry him. He loves me but ... What about
Vance? Maybe I’m marrying for the wrong reasons or do I really love
Qwan... Maybe I can live with him forever without regretting this
decision. I do love him. I am certain I do, but ... Well, it
doesn’t matter, does it? All that matters is saving Vance. I’m his
only hope. YES is my only option.

I pressed my arm against my sticky hicky
armpit trying to stop the sweat from running down without
embarrassingly wiping under my arm. Heartbeats passed in silence,
the agitation inside the church felt unnerving on my skin. I felt
the eyes. They were all staring at my lips. Pure and complete
silence. A silence so quiet, it seemed even the clocks stop ticking
and were listening for an answer too because not even the clock
ticking could be heard. No sound whatsoever. My heels all of a
sudden felt uncomfortable. My legs straining to stand still. The
silence spread so wide I could hear the softest wind blowing
outside. Not just my foot, my whole body was uncomfortable and mind
in disarray.

I couldn’t get the words “I DO” out because
of the throbbing bile in my throat. My throat was dry, better yet
parched.

Qwan touched his pink tie, jerked it a nudge.
His adam’s apple went down then up and he had tiny globules of
sweat forming a thin line across his upper lip. The church as
silent as emptiness. A long hollow pause went by and persons
shuffled their bottoms in their hard wooden seats.

Qwan’s Dad, Micheal Douglas bald head flushed
with sweat. I wasn’t sure if he actually wanted this wedding to go
through. He had not smiled all day. He looked at me with some fire,
some threat of a sort, couldn’t quite make out what those eyes
meant but they were the same look he gave to Qwan when he was
pissed off about something he did. Or maybe he’s fretting about
what he had done and held under the wraps. He had to be, it was too
scandalous. Terribly.

Maybe he was wondering if that’s causing me
not to say “I DO”. Trust me, it was more than enough reason to not
say “I DO” to Qwan. Yes. I wasn’t talking about the rumours of him
in his community of paying all the young girls who just begun to
grow hair over their vaginas, to get a taste of it, a sample. And
In return he’d offer them money and trips to foreign countries.
Rumours had it that he couldn’t perform sex for over five minutes,
but when it came to oral sex, he could suck a woman until she came
enough times to make her whole body dry. I heard that some girls
even asked him as a favour to have that tongual experience. I
thought if Mr. Douglas was the last man on earth, I still wouldn’t
let him do me, not in a million years. He was too disgusting and he
gave me the creeps.