She's Got Soul

PRELUDE

Dear Journal:

We are no closer to finding the love of our life. Not even a half of a step. In fact, at this moment, as I type this entry to you, I sit in a well-lit spot in the little coffee shop around the corner from us, us being me and my heart. Even with the lighting and the frequent traffic from fine ass men who love coffee-flavored caffeine, I still sit here alone. I know you’re wondering whether I’ve actually approached one of them, or, at the very least, smiled his way? The answer would be no. That would just be taking trying to get a man too far. But shit, can’t they see, in all my gorgeousness, that I’m glowing. I mean, more like shining now since these lights are so damn hot, and isn’t that enough for them to approach me? Dani told me I needed to get out more. Hence me coming here instead of drinking coffee inside my home or while I work, which is perfectly fine for me. But here I am. Out. Not one approach. I am beginning to wonder if I miscalculated my need to have a significant other in my life with really just a need for significant penis because the last time I had a boyfriend, it proved I didn’t do well with him. Him being the whole person, not the penis. Penis I do just fine with.

I mean, the beginning is always beautiful. That’s how they get you. Saying all the things you want to hear and you are barely hearing the words anyway because you’re just so happy to be close to body heat for once and it does get cold in Pittsburgh. And if he smells good, you might as well forget it. But when a few discernable words make it past his sparkling white teeth, they are what you want to hear. You’re different. I like that. Not like the rest. So brilliant, sexy, we should get with each other, let’s go to my place. All those words were perfect, so I spread my legs and then my heart.

But what did different mean when three months in, I get treated like the rest. Excuses that looked awfully close to lies. Inconsistency. Smiles that don’t reach his eyes. More text messages and less calls. Then the penis becomes scarcer and from what I know about that little – or hopefully big – penis , he likes to get his action every day, if possible. So, if I’m not getting it, someone else is and someone else is the one who is different right now.

That was my story with men. So truly, I shouldn’t be sitting here, hoping for a repeat. Right?

This is the only bad thing about talking to my journal-friend-of-mine. You have no got damn answers! I mean, I’m spilling my guts here and telling you things don’t no one need to really know. I mean, last week, I shared something you can’t tell a soul. You shouldn’t have even backed up that entry on the cloud. Nope. But, I share and you sit there blinking at me when I ask you a question. Fine. I won’t get answers from you and I need to head back home anyway to do some real work. Trolling has been fruitless.

-Zola Green

1

ZOLA

A MONTH OR SO LATER.

Auntie Zola, you need a man in your life.

"Zoe! First of all, no woman needs a man in her life." Except for her father.

Where did you get that from? Never mind. You got that from my sister, your mother. Second of all, you’re too young to give me advice on men. You shouldn’t even have experience yet.

Her response came in the form of a mischievous smile that clearly meant she had enough experience for me to probe her later about her experiences. Later, as in when her mom wasn’t around. Aunties took extra care to keep secrets unless they were the type of secrets that needed outing. I couldn’t be sure of that until I uncovered the reason for the smirk, but that would have to wait because we were surrounded.

It was Sunday and also July’s New Moon. Though my mother eschewed most traditions that other families seemed to wear as a banner of pride, the New Moon was one she followed to a tee.

As the first phase of the moon cycle, the new moon phase holds special meaning for cultures around the world, and specifically my mother. It is often viewed as a symbol of new beginnings. From her point of view, this phase provided a reset where goals are renewed, desires are set, and new intentions are made and so we gathered together no matter what day the New Moon fell on, and we spoke our intentions, let go of grudges, and allowed our hearts to open. Though I didn’t believe we always did let go, it was a nice tradition that I didn’t try to get out of attending. The New Moon always represented a time of peace that emanated from my mother and into us and I loved it.

But my fifteen-year-old niece would not be handing out advice to me this Sunday or any other day, but she wasn’t so convinced. Her naturally and perfectly-arched eyebrows furrowed, and she took up a more comfortable position beside me on my mother’s purple velvet couch. She was giving me her full undivided attention. Her light brown eyes sparkled as she went on without regard to my obvious discomfort.

You say that Auntie, but you are lonely. I can see it in your eyes, and I can feel it in my heart.

You aren’t seeing or feeling anything but youth, Zoe.

You and I both know we all feel things in this family and we know things, now stop diverting. Zoe was into going to the library like her mother and I used to do at her age and as a result, she used words not typical for children or teenagers her age. She was also right about how clairvoyant and empathic we were in my family, but that wasn’t something I wanted to explore. From my position, I knew what I wanted or needed, and I didn’t want or need a man. Even if the idea of a man loving me for exactly who I am was appealing.

I looked over at my mother who seemed to be intentionally keeping her eyes diverted and into her Zadie Smith’s Feel Free collection of essays. Her dark brown locs hung like ropes around her face making it easy for her to disappear from this conversation. I wasn’t even sure why I would have looked to her for assistance though. She was more against relationships than I pretended to be.

So, you’re saying you plan to remain single for the rest of your life? Zena walked into the living room and decided to help Zoe with the inquisition, not that she had any right.

She hadn’t openly dated in years. I say openly because I imagine she had the same enthusiasm for sex as I, and our mother did. Zora was against relationships, but not sex and Zena and I knew that if our mother was in a good mood, it was because she’d been getting some loving between the sheets, though the who is a mystery.

We were passionate women who mostly did not see the necessity in keeping the man around for more than stimulating conversation and great lovemaking.

No, that’s not what I’m saying; though it would make things so much easier.

"Of course, it will. That way, you can complain about men every Thursday night on Soul Talk."

Hush, Zena.

You know I’m not lying.

No one asked you.

Oh, but you did. Your question earlier tonight was, do you think I’m too hard on ‘nem? ‘Nem as in men – and my answer was, hell yeah you are. You countered with how you intended to give them ‘a piece of your mind’, which lead me to ask you whether you planned to remain single until the end of eternity?

Let me ask you, sister, do you plan to ever get married again?

My question was met with her silence and the glare in her big brown eyes that tilted in the corners. Eyes identical to mine, and her daughter, Zoe’s. The eyes we got from our mother. Zoe, who had watched the exchange, chose to pull out her phone and do what teenagers do. Get on Snap Chat.

That was low, Zola, and the answer is no. Zena immediately looked away so that I couldn’t read her true feelings, something I had a supernatural gift for doing. It may have also been to avoid biting back at me in our mother’s presence.

In our family, we were supposed to be able to speak our thoughts and feelings without rebuke or consequence. Our mother, Zora encouraged our free speech and never were we scolded for saying exactly what we thought about things. This, however, didn’t bode too well in school where the entire construct was designed to make children assimilate and be compliant, which is why Zena and I were often called into the office followed by our mother.

Mom would sit there patiently listening to whatever antics we got into that day. When the principal or teacher was finished, she would calmly explain that she raised us to speak our minds and that while she understood that didn’t always work well in places that ran on assimilation, she would not change her way of rearing us. If the school didn’t like it, she would pull us out to homeschool us.

Immediately, they would backtrack because both Zena and I were the smartest in our classes. They would bring up the test scores. Everyone who knows anything about schools, knows that we were being trained to take tests. Which is why my mother taught us her own curriculum each afternoon for an hour. You need to know their ways and know ours.

After Zena and I came home from school, we were allowed to grab our snacks and head into the dining room area, which was more like an atrium. The atrium was filled with bright sunlight filtered through large windows and shining directly onto the Banana and Dieffenbachia plants my mother strategically placed where they could grab the light. We’d sit there doing our homework while our mother finished up on her clients’ clothes. Mom was a seamstress by trade, but also had a side hustle reading tarot cards. Neither of those things would pay all the bills, so she’d take temporary positions that would help fill in the gaps of our pretty simple life. But life with Zora was anything but simple.

My mother was what most adults would categorize as odd or eccentric. She