Something She Can Feel

“How do you know that?” Tears were coming to her eyes.

“Your mother, Farrah, from the hotel, she told me you’re trying to save money to go to school,” Dame said.

“Yes,” she answered. “I’ve been accepted, but we

have no money to pay.”

“Well you just sold your last dress in the marketplace, so I guess you have the money now.”

I looked at Dame. He was reaching into his pocket.

“Call this number later this evening; it’s my assistant’s and she’ll be expecting your call. Tell her how much all of that stuff is,” he said, handing her a card. “We’ll get that handled for you.”

“No,” she cried loud enough that the woman at the next stand came over and tried to comfort her. “You can’t be serious. Never have I dreamed this would happen. Never.” Akosua jumped into Dame’s arms and held him tightly. Now I was crying, too, and standing there was a crowd of people who’d gathered around them to share in the news.

By “night out,” Dame really meant “night out”—outside and beneath the stars. What I guessed could be called a nightclub was actually a bonfire on the beach with a DJ and a crowd of dancing men. Few women could be spotted on the sand and those that I could see were obviously prostitutes or the girlfriends of married men. When we first got there, Dame and I sat by the bar, listening to the music as they played hip-hop and a little reggae. The dancers, who seemed to all be starring in their own videos where they spent more time proclaiming each word of the songs than actually dancing, pounded their chests and looked up at the sky.

“Want another beer?” the waitress asked, picking up the empty bottle in front of me.

“Yes,” I said.

“Wait—” Dame stopped her. “Do you have any palm wine?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll have two.”

“You sure?” She looked at Dame curiously and so did I.

“Yes,” he said.

“Okay.” Her voice was a mix of warning and fear, the kind of gesture a bartender made when he was sure he’d just given a drunk patron one drink too many.

“What’s palm wine?” I asked, concerned when the woman left us.

“It’s a local wine made of palm leaves,” Dame explained.

“Oh, that doesn’t sound too bad,” I said. “She looked so afraid.”

“Yeah, it’s like moonshine. Just made from palm leaves.”

“Sounds great,” I said, overhearing the music shift from its slow reggae vibe to a more polyrhythmic African beat.

“Two palm wines,” the waitress said, returning and putting label-less bottles of liquor in front of us.

“Great,” I said, picking up my bottle. “To us,” I added, tapping Dame’s bottle.

“To us.”

Like moonshine, the wine was bitter and burning at first, but after the first five sips, it went down smooth and cooled my insides. I didn’t know if this was because it was already taking effect, or if I was getting used to the taste, but looking into the emptying bottle, I decided I’d ask for another.

“You look so nice tonight,” I said to Dame, who was looking into the crowd and bopping his head. Now most of the men out there had a partner and they were grinding heavily into each other.

“Thank you,” Dame said, turning to me. He was just wearing a pair of loose-fitting khaki shorts and a button-up linen shirt, but it was such a shift from his usual T-shirt and jeans that it might as well have been a tuxedo—one I wanted to see him out of. He’d twisted his hair and tucked it into a bun. “I know I already told you that you looked amazing in that red dress a dozen times at the hotel, but let me get another look.” Dame stepped back and watched as I poked out my butt in the dress. As I imagined, it was a perfect fit and somehow Akosua made the bust just tight enough that my breasts were held in perfect position. They were even perky.

I threw my head back and took another swig of the wine.

“Whoa!” Dame took the bottle and held it next to his. He was still at the top neck and mine was almost at the middle. “Slow down. This is strong stuff.”