By Omari Jackson
Adriana Kabaso imagined she was doing enough sacrifice for herself. Standing at five-three or five-five, her one hundred and sixteen body lay on her bed, as the early morning cold seeped through an open window.
Sleep was good for her, but she knew she had not been fair to her body.
Now she wished she could sleep all day, for her desires had sometimes overruled her sense of realism. And in those instances, she had exchanged the time to sleep for partying, and she had known it was having a toll on her but she was not prepared to make changes in her life style.
It was on a Monday of the week, the beginning of her struggle in Atlanta. Night was long past, and she knew the call would come and she would be struggling to open her eyes. So when it came, she was right about it.
Her right hand moved across the middle of the bed. Plucking the cell-phone, she answered, her reaction showcasing her difficulty in waking up:
“Hello.”
The voice said the second time, “We’re coming, are you ready?”
She wanted to yell into the mouth-piece, but something urged her to hold on. She then turned to look at the time on the phone and it told her:
06:49A.M and it was time for work.
“Are you ready, we are coming,” the voice again, and feeling like she had been beaten the night before, Kabaso said, “I’m getting ready…,” then saying, “I wish today is a holiday,” and turned the phone off.
Moving away from the bed, Kabaso stumbled over a chair, and she cursed: “Who the hell put this chair here?” and walked on, feeling the switch on the wall, and turning the light on.
She knew her friends would be arriving any minute, and she would have to force herself into the car, and stumbled into the back seat for the ride.
She had been living at the Collins Apartment for several months. How many months? She did not want to be bothered with that. All she knew she was living here, and that was what counted.
The Collins Apartment fronted the giant Department Store, and as she told a friend the other, “This is where I always walk about,” and she read some envy on the friend’s reaction. That was when the friend, Tonia, said, “Sometimes some people are lucky where they live,” and her reaction was somber, asking her, “Tonia, you’re not jealous of me, huh?”
Tonia said, “How could I, huh?”
“But your question means something is not right with me.”
“You better stop that, girlie.”
“Just look across from my apartment,” pointing her finger towards the department store Kabaso said, “and I know you don’t have such a thing in your area.”
Tonia’s eyes brightened up, when she said, “I’ll be darned if I’m envious.”
The conversation ended abruptly, when Kabaso said, “I know you’re unhappy with me whenever I am successful, and from now on I’ll be careful with you.”
That was a week ago!
Now she stared at the empty wardrobe and she thought about her recent uneasiness. Though she made it clear, she still could not get it out of her mind, especially when she said to all who had ears the other day on their ride home, that she would check herself up to make sure that she was not expecting.
“Expecting what?” one of the men in the car said.
Kabaso said, “I don’t want to feel sleepy and all that vomiting since there is an occasion coming and I don’t want to miss out.”
Everyone in the car laughed, including the two men, especially when one of them said, “You surely checked yourself up, huh?’ and she simply laughed. After all what do men know about such things? she asked herself, and laughed.
Now she must get ready for the ride. She shrugged into her usual jeans and grabbed a blouse from her center table. One thing about her, and this had been confirmed by any of the men who would take the trouble to pay her some attention; she was slicked in her jeans, and whenever she walked, it was said she slithered like a snake.
The other day when she stood in the mirror and pretended she was walking back and forth in the room, the contours of her shape made her to look wonderful.
“Oh these men,” she said, “I see why they will not leave me alone.” But did she enjoy such attention from them? A question she had not found it easy to answer. Maybe one day she might find the answer. But then she knew that such attention from “men” had been the undoing of many a promising woman. She could think of many stories about young women whose future lost the fires that were burning in there. She would not allow that to create any upset for her.
Now the time ticked away.
“Time to go,” she said, and swung her right hand to the closet to grab a bra, the one that fit her tightly and neatly. The one that would demand the attention of those men who would not leave the female sex alone. Yes, the one that…”What am I saying?” she wished she knew.
“Since the men want to see,” she told herself, “they must be ready, lol.”
But then, it seemed something was going wrong. The closet full of bra and other personal items was empty.
“Where are my bras?” asking as if she left them with someone. Though there was Janet, her cousin and sister living in the apartment with her but she kept to herself Kabaso could not even imagine asking her about them.
As if a door was suddenly left ajar into some world unseen before, she felt the rush of an inner energy surging through her. It could mean nothing but she did not like it. But when she felt a queer, uncomfortable perplexity began to invade her mind, she could no longer remain in her position. She must begin to act, now.
She moved from one corner of the room to another, stumbling over chairs and tables, seething with anger.
“Who could do this to me?” a question that was perhaps a chance inquiry into her actions. She knew she had not been practically consistent with the dream she had always wanted.
But then, she always consoled herself that there was always a tomorrow and she would derive comfort from her own actions.
Then her mind centered on the missing items: Who would want such personal stuff and for what reason?
Back in Africa she heard how such personal items were the most effective effort if an enemy wanted you dead. Those personal items would be used in a ritual, and at least she could remember once, how a girl turned crazy when her personal items were reportedly used in a juju or black magic ritual.
But, she said, “this is not Africa, but then where are my bras?” She glanced at the empty space where the bras stood, just yesterday, and what about the other items? She felt a chill and her stomach began to pinch her. It reminded her the period she was at the hospital to have her daughter. Hmmm…that pain! Then bitterness crept into her face.
In all these happenings, she had one consolation: which was the fact that she was not involved in any multiple relationships, a situation that could force someone to harm her, as she knew the story back in Africa.
It was after such self-examination the other day that she almost ran out of her job at NCR at its Suwannee location. What happened was spooky but now that she thought about it, she could only laugh. What happened was, she heard someone call her name.
“Adriana, Adriana.” Then her cheeks furrowed by strong purpose and feeling. It was like death itself. The moment of action. That was when she endeavored to smile away her chagrin.
It was now around 04:00pm, the very time she was leaving for home. At the time the weather had completed a drizzle and she was just coming towards the break-room when she heard someone call her name but when she turned to look and respond to the call, there was no one in sight.
“Nobody is behind this door,” she said, as she made a desperate attempt to what she considered a prank, “and therefore who could be calling my name?” Her head dropped into her hands like a storm-broken flower. There was no answer, and that was strange!
She was not particularly a weakling, and therefore she felt she must find who was apparently playing games with her name.
She remembered that day, and still thought about it.
Presently she must proceed to work, without the bra, to send those nosy men confused. There would be another day and another time, and wherever they were, she would find them.
The knock at the door brought her back to the present. For the last several minutes she failed to locate any of the bras, and though it worried her to death, there was nothing she could do.
Grabbing whatever she had left, she stormed out of the room, and entering the car dropped herself on the backseat.
She did not even realize it till several minutes later.
“Oh my cell phone.”
“What happened to it?” someone asked.
“I left it home,” Kabaso said. But she was glad that at least she had gained a measure of her self and was now on her way to work. It would not be an easy experience, but she knew life had always not been easy. “Since I made it the other day,” she said, “I’m going to make it today, too.”
She was a strong-willed woman, oh a strong mother, she corrected herself, and wished her only daughter, for now, would emulate her example when she was a grown-up woman. As the car hummed along, she allowed her body to fall back, and then closed her eyes. In her mind’s eye, she could hear a song, a favorite one, in its droning melody in her ears.
Few minutes later, she went into deep sleep, which her friends in the car noticed. But for her, nothing mattered anymore.
