Something She Can Feel

We’re dying for love.

We’re dying for someone to love us.

Just to feel that feeling

And know that we’re not dying at all.

I thought of Evan.

That they’re wishing what we’re wishing,

And willing like we’re willing,

To take the fall.

I thought of Dame. I thought of me.

These words came so effortlessly with each wave in front of me. They rolled up on me with memories of my life and with melody; they were coordinating everything I’d seen into meaning—love. Everyone was just trying to be loved. To be accepted and wanted. Desired by those they desired most. We all just wanted the same thing. Some knew what it was. Others were on a quest to find it. But the feeling was the same. The need was consistent. We wanted to be loved for who and what we were.

Sitting there out on the beach with my words, I was filled with the most spiritual emotions I’d ever felt. It was like I was right next to God, feeling something no church could ever give me—an understanding of the utterly complicated, brilliant, and amazing reality of love. And that was all God was. In fact, the ocean, the sand, the waves, the sky, the sun, that was the church, the Bible, and God. And, as May said, now I knew it was inside of me.

I sang the song to Dame over breakfast. With tears in his eyes, he hugged me and insisted I share it with Farrah. She didn’t hold back her tears. She went and got some of the other maids and then, right at the little restaurant in the hotel, I was singing my first song. The melody was somewhat improvised and most times I was just going off of feeling, but the result was the same. Everyone knew what I was calling upon. They understood the urgency of the desire and by the time I was done, they were all crying into each other’s arms as if the restaurant had been transformed into a concert hall and then their own hearts.

“The

y love you,” Dame said to me, coming up and standing beside me in front of the small crowd. He was clapping along with them and asking that I sing the song for the tenth time for a new group of people that had shown up.

“Later,” I said graciously. “Tonight. After we get back from dinner. I promise.”

“Look at you,” Dame pointed out. “You’re becoming a celebrity already.”

“No, I’m not,” I said, laughing. “I just don’t want to overdo it. I’m still learning the song myself. It’s a work in progress.”

“Well I’m proud either way.” He kissed me on the cheek. “You took a risk and really put yourself out there.”

Instead of singing, after dinner Dame and I finished our nightly walk along the beach and decided to go out for some more palm wine. Grinning and giggling about the events of the previous night, Dame teased that I was the cheapest date he’d ever had. He’d spent only three dollars on the wine.

“So, I’m cheap now?” I asked. We were in the hotel room, changing clothes.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Not last night. You were more like a pro.”

“You stop it,” I said, laughing.

“You see, I’m trying to get some more of that palm wine in you!” Dame joked, opening his bag. He pulled out a little box and opened it. Inside was a cluster of sparkles.

“What’s that?”

“Some watch the label sent me,” he said, taking out the shiny thing and holding it up. “I think they know I’m about to leave, so they keep sending me these little nigga tokens.”

“Don’t say that. This thing looks pretty expensive,” I said.

“It’s nothing in comparison to how much I’ve made them. It’s just a carrot they’re dangling to keep their nigga in line. They think all we care about is shiny shit and cars and that all they have to do to keep us coming and in line is flash a little candy.”

“So you don’t like candy?” I asked. “I see you’re putting the watch on. Why not just send it back?”

“I’m bigger than this bullshit,” he said. “I’m not letting anyone predict my actions or control my mind.”

“Not even me?” I laughed, but Dame was quiet.