Someone

Ebony Stone is awakened from sleep, flashbacks from the recurring nightmare invading her waking consciousness in strobe  light-like images. As always, she sees the little boy with a face like her’s: big light brown eyes, button nose, sandy red hair. Ebony frowns; that boy no longer exists. Why can’t she put her distant past to rest and live fully in the reality of now?

She looks around in admiration of her tastefully decorated  bedroom. The mahogany wood of the hand-carved headboard  and matching nightstands cost her a mint, but the African wildlife  motif spoke to her Afro-centric soul. Her gaze moves to the  beautiful handwoven Afghan rug that Camille sent her while stationed in Afghanistan. Camille, her best friend since third  grade, worked intelligence and interrogation but lost her faith in what America was doing in a country that hadn’t produced the majority of those blamed for the horrible attacks on 9-11. So when her tour was up, Camille quit, came home, and used what Uncle Sam had taught her to start her own anti-espionage company in the corporate sector, making more money than some Fortune 500 CEOs.

As Ebony swings her legs out of bed, she stops to appreciate the two paintings on her bedroom wall, Impressionist-style works  created by her multi-talented aunt Anne. Her eyes misted as she  thought about how dearly she missed auntie, without whom she’d probably have died long ago. She mutters to herself, “Yep,  because of you I’m the woman I was destined to be. I wish you were  here to see how far I’ve come.”

Though she lives alone she is not lonesome, not looking for someone to make her feel complete, yet wanting someone to share her life with. Educated at the prestigious HBCU Spelman, she went on to get her Masters at Northwestern  University in psychology. By all outward appearances, she is a  smashing success. She is educated and owns her own therapy center bringing mental health and healing to underserved Black  and Brown children in Chicago, as well as a lucrative consulting position at a high-end law firm. Ebony is beautiful, smart, and  healthy. The one thing she lacks is someone to love and be loved  by. She has done all the dating sites, even submitted to blind  dates set up by her close friends, with plenty of dating but no connection beyond physical attraction. Though she is stunningly  gorgeous, standing at five feet eight inches and 145 pounds with  a Rubenesque figure, dark chocolate skin, and the visage of an African Goddess so exquisite it would make Aphrodite weep, she is  not particular about looks. She has her own money and she is not a snob when it comes to how much education a man has, or even what he does for a living—provided he is not a criminal. What attracts her is intelligence, a keen sense of humor, good grooming  and hygiene, and spirituality. She can’t stand a man who doesn’t believe in something greater than himself.

She faces the full-length mirror with a gilt-edge frame. She purchased it for $50 at a thrift shop in Bronzeville three years ago.  She appraises her curvaceous form. A lifetime of tennis, skating, and yoga has toned and tightened her small waist, ample bosom and a butt, hips, and thighs that some women spend thousands of dollars to get. A smile flits across her luscious lips, then she thinks, “You’re a hot girl, but who gets to enjoy the view except you?” Just  then her cellphone plays her ringtone, Jodey Watley’s I’m lookin’ for a new love.
“Hello,” she answers.
“Hey boo, are you up yet?” her BFF Camille’s melodically resonant voice chimes.
“You know I don’t sleep past 4:30A.M., so tell me why you’re really calling,” Ebony replies.
“Well, I was online last night and I saw this website for men  in prison seeking female pen pals. Now before you say no, listen  to this ad and you’ll see why it piqued my interest. Here it says: ‘Could you be my someone? I don’t mean my girlfriend, but my  soulmate. I’m not talking about romance. The best relationships  germinate from a seed of friendship. I am a man drowning in a sea of testosterone in search of an estrogen refuge to engage in mental, emotional, and spiritual intercourse. The carnal satiation will come later after we’ve achieved a higher love.’”

Having finished her recitation of the ad, Camille asks, “Now, ain’t that some shit to stimulate your mind and your nether regions?”

Ebony had to admit that despite herself, she was intrigued.
“First of all, why in God’s name were you, a happily married  woman, on a damned prisoner’s pen pal site, and secondly, what makes you think I’m so hard up I’d even consider this man a potential mate?”

Camille laughs. “I’m happily married but I’m also insatiably  curious. My sister’s coworker met her husband on this site two years ago, and I wanted to see what kind of man could compel a woman of her stature to ever consider writing to him. It’s also my mission to find my homegal a man.”

Ebony chuckles. “Thanks but no thanks, I don’t have time to dumpster dive for a man. I don’t do criminals.”

Camille sighs. “Girl, you don’t have to ‘do’ criminals to appreciate the guy who wrote this ad. Hell, if I wasn’t already boo’d  up, I might check him out. You are alone with no real prospective mates, what could hurt to see what’s really to this guy? I’ll give you his information and profile picture and you can decide from there, okay?”

Before Ebony can say “not okay,” Camille hangs up. Nonplussed, Ebony sets her phone down. While showering,  she thinks to herself, “Camille’s ass is a trip! What could possibly come from a prison romance except heartache and me possibly becoming his next victim?” As she gets out of the shower, her phone chimes. Sure enough, it’s Camille’s email. Curiosity compels her to open the file as she thinks, “What would it hurt to look, it’s  not like I’m going to contact him.” The face of the author of the  ad is not exceptionally handsome, he’s no Idris Elba or Denzel  Washington, but he has the most soulful eyes Ebony has ever seen. They almost seem to speak to one’s heart and soul on a non-verbal,  visceral level. Before she has time to really think about it, she types a message to him and sends it. The reply is “Your contact info and  message have been sent to the prisoner. Thank you.” Ebony puts  down the phone and gets ready for work.

The work day passes in a blur. She saw three of her patients, one a Latina girl who tried to hang herself after her mother’s new  husband and his son took turns raping her. Then Ebony went to  court and testified before a judge that a 13-year-old Black girl who set her stepbrother on fire by drenching him in fingernail  polish remover was suffering from PTSD from molestation by the stepbrother since she was 10. Thank God she could put that one in the “win” column since the judge agreed, and instead of prison he sent her to Ebony’s in-patient treatment center until Ebony cleared  her for release. Of course the prosecutor had a fit, she wanted the girl to do hard time since the brother was burnt on 85% of his body. In the end Ebony convinced the judge the girl’s actions were not premeditated, but were the classic responses of a teenage girl victimized and made to feel she had no other way out of the abuse since neither the girl’s mother nor stepfather believed her when she told them what was happening.

Ebony returns home exhausted. On impulse she checks  her emails as she soaks in the tub. She sees a message from Mr. Raheem Akbar. The message reads, “Greetings Goddess, thank you for this blessed opportunity to commune with you soul-to-soul, heart-to-heart. You said in your message that you’re a therapist  which is kismet because I’m a student of the mind and trauma. I am an erudite scholar, not formally trained, but self-taught like  Malcolm X. As you’ve no doubt figured out from my name, I am a  Muslim, but more spiritual than religious. I believe there are many  paths to God and that our purest form of worship is not the strict observance of precepts and tenets, but our love, kindness, and  compassion shown to the creatures of Allah whom we profess to  serve. Tell me more about yourself, where did you go to school?  Have you ever been married? What spiritual path do you follow? If  you’re comfortable, I’d also like a photo of you, nothing racy, just  a headshot will suffice. You can acquaint me with your body after you’ve introduced me to your heart, mind, and spirit. Bye for now.  Warmly, Raheem.”

Ebony had to admit that line about “acquainting him with  her body after she’d introduced him to her heart, mind, and  spirit” really got to her. She’d heard from other women how men  in prison could talk a sista out of her panties, not to mention her  money, in a heartbeat! Guys in prison had little or nothing to do  all day but hone their tools of seduction, discovering what women  wanted or needed to hear, and then regurgitating rhetoric they’d  worked on and perfected. And yet, something about Raheem did  not seem contrived or disingenuous. He came off as organic and  sincere, like the words emanated from his very heart and soul.  Laughing at her own naivete, she thought, “Girl, you don’ drank  Kool-Aid. You literally just met this man, how could you possibly  gauge his level of sincerity?” Still, in her heart, something told her  Raheem Akbar was indeed a rare find.

She woke up in a cold sweat at 2 A.M. The recurring night  terror was the same. This time she got as far as seeing the boy’s  lips smeared with lipstick, dressed in a sundress too big for him. Then a booming voice and huge scarred hands pummeling the  boy’s face, screaming, “I told you you ain’t no girl! You’re a boy  and boys don’t wear lipstick and dresses. No boy of mine is gonna  be a faggot, I’ll kill you dead before I let you shame me!” Ebony’s  breathing is shallow and rapid, her hands flailing, trying to block  the blows from the hands in her dream. She reminds herself, “That  boy died long ago and I buried that pain and loss, why can’t I just  forget him?” Unable to go back to sleep, she reaches for her laptop  and pulls up Raheem’s email. Reading it over and over again, she replies. 

Two months later she and Raheem have been emailing 3-5 times a day. She is still not sure where this love affair is headed, but like a moth to the flame, she’s drawn to this man. She also has not yet “introduced” Raheem to her body, but she has sent him plenty of headshots, some with makeup on, some with nothing except  lip gloss. Raheem says he loves her face unadorned, as he puts it. Inevitably they’ve discussed her coming to visit him to spend one on-one time together. This weekend she plans to fly to New Jersey to see him for the first time. Though Raheem has said nothing  more about her body, she nevertheless wants to show him what  “her momma gave her” and she’s nervous about what to wear, and how much to reveal. They’ve “video visited” but this is their first  in-person date, so she wants this to be special.

Saturday morning, Ebony struts into the visiting room dressed  to kill in an eggshell white sheer blouse with a matching camisole underneath, a turquoise fitted skirt with a daring slit up the thigh,  black fishnet stockings, and black stilettos. The visiting room officer, a strikingly beautiful Latina with almond-shaped, almost  jet-black eyes, burnished brown skin, and a symmetrical contoured  mestiza face, catches Ebony’s attention. The officer points out the  assigned table and asks her to take a seat. A minute later, Raheem  strolls in wearing dark blue khakis and a light blue denim shirt. He isn’t overly muscular, but it’s clear he exercises daily. They haven’t  discussed how they’ll greet one another so she doesn’t know if  they’ll hug, kiss cheeks, or shake hands. It feels perfectly natural  when Raheem enfolds her in a loving embrace and kisses her  painted lips. Despite there being no tongue, the kiss still sets her  heart racing. When he releases her, he holds her at arm’s length and  gazes into her eyes. He says, “I think I’ve fallen in love.”

The visit is less like a first date and more like a continuation of a lifetime of intimate rendezvous. Raheem informs her that the  visiting room officer and him are friends so they’ll have the room to  themselves. Because Ebony came from out of state, they have eight  hours of visiting time that day and eight hours on Sunday before  her flight back to Chicago. At one point Raheem takes her hand  and pulls her into his lap. The officer smiles and says nothing. She  expects Raheem to try and feel her up, maybe even reach under her  skirt. But he simply pulled her forward until her head rested on his shoulder, then he strokes her hair. At the end of the visit, Raheem  holds her again and stares not at her, but into her. He kisses her  cheeks, first one side then the other, punctuating it with a kiss on the lips. Not once did he grope or try to fondle her. She can’t  believe how valued that made her feel. He whispers in her ear, “See  you tomorrow, insh’Allah. That means if it be the will of ALLAH.”

That night in her hotel room she does not dream at all. For the  first time in 15 years, she does not wake up screaming. The next morning at 9:30 A.M. sharp she sees Raheem being escorted into the visiting room. The same officer sits at the desk, and this time she even greets Ebony with an hola.

Far too quickly the visit is almost over. Just like the day before,  Raheem has made no sexual advances. She expected him to at  least rub her legs, especially after he remarked on how sexy they  are. Instead he put her feet in his lap and massaged them for two hours. She hates to admit it but this is by far the best any man has ever treated her. Most men have an agenda, getting you naked  and sexed as soon as possible. Flattering compliments, romantic  gestures, and a fine meal were all part of the strategy to get  between a woman’s legs, and here this brother in jail had treated her not like a potential lay, but like a human being. Ebony looks  Raheem in the eye and says, “I think I may be in love too.

Within two years Raheem and Ebony are engaged. She has  no clue how he pulled it off, but he managed to get her a 2.5-carat  diamond engagement ring that fit her perfectly. New Jersey law  permits them to be married while he is still in custody, and though Ebony was willing to do that, Raheem insisted on waiting until his parole hearing in October. “See, honey bee, if they grant me  parole we can have a December wedding,” he explains. She says, “I thought Muslims didn’t celebrate Christmas.” Raheem laughs. “We don’t, but if it’s good enough for Jesus (peace be upon  him), surely it’s good enough for me to marry the woman of my dreams!”

Since the night of their first visit, Ebony has been nightmare free. She tells Camille about it and she says, “I guess Love does  indeed conquer all.” She pauses before asking, “Have you told him about your dreams, about your past?” Ebony confesses that she has not. “I’m scared that if he knows my past he won’t want me anymore. For the first time someone accepts me for who I am. I don’t want to lose that.” Camille does not judge nor condemn. She only says, “Baby, I know this is all you ever wanted but if you don’t tell him, it’s not acceptance. It’s deceit.”

In her heart Ebony knows this is true, so she promises to tell  Raheem at their upcoming visit.

Saturday morning Ebony wakes up in her New Jersey hotel room with her stomach in knots. Today is the day. She will not shy  away from the truth. She dresses to impress. Raheem loves to see  her legs, though to this day he still has never fondled or groped her. When she asked about his self-restraint he said, “Baby, I want to  touch and explore every inch of your sacred frame, but I wanna do  it as your husband in our bedroom, not our here in the open like  you’re a cheap thrill.” The day he said that was the day she knew  that if he asked, she would marry him without hesitation.

When Raheem walks into the visiting room, he greets the  officer. Ebony once asked Raheem what their history was, and  he told her how three years ago the Latina officer was running  showers for the men in his cell block. There were supposed to be two officers, one male and one female. But her coworkers thought  it would be funny to make her do it by herself. On his way to the shower, Raheem saw another convict grab Officer Laraza by her hair and drag her into his cell. In prison, the first thing you learn is to mind your own business, but Raheem has sisters and loves the  heck out of his momma so he couldn’t let this go down. He entered the cell and told the convict that Laraza was his, so if he wanted her then he’d have to fight Raheem. Though Raheem is Muslim and  unaffiliated with the prison gangs, he is known for his penchant for violence and revenge. The guy let Officer Laraza go and from that day on, she vowed to do anything to show her gratitude. He never had her bring him guns, drugs, or alcohol. Raheem only asked her for small favors that didn’t jeopardize her job or her freedom. 

Raheem greets Ebony with his signature hug and kiss. Feeling the stiffness in her body he asks, “What’s wrong honey bee, ain’t you happy to see me?”

Ebony looks him in the eye. “Raheem, I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life, but I have something to tell you. Something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

He jokes, saying, “I think we better sit down for this.” Once seated she takes his hand. “There’s something about my past you need to know. Something that may change the way you see me and think about me.”

Raheem squeezes her hand reassuringly. “Whatever happened in the past is behind us. I’ve done terrible things and you haven’t held them against me. I was 17 when my burglary turned into a  home invasion, ending in the death of a precious human being. When I told you my past, you found a way to forgive me and love me. How could anything you’ve done be worse than murder? Whatever happened has nothing to do with our future.”

Ebony prays he means those words as she takes a deep breath and tells him. “I was born male, but I always always knew I was  in the wrong body. When I was 7, I began trying to show people  who I was. My mom sensed it all along, but my daddy was a man’s  man and he beat me. He swore he’d ‘beat the faggot’ right out of me. I left home at 15 to live with my paternal aunt Anne. She was the only family member I had who accepted me. She found  a doctor willing to give me the hormonal injections to begin my transition. At 17 I tried to cut my penis off and damn near bled to  death. That’s when my aunt sent me to Europe to have my surgery. High school was a living hell. When my classmates found out, I  got beat up. Once, a group of boys pretended to like me only to get me alone, gang rape me, and beat me almost to death. After that I moved to a different school where I registered as female and  had my name changed. Since then I’ve lived as a woman. I am a woman. I am not a gay male. I am a woman inside and out, I was  just born in the wrong body.”

Raheem just sits and stares at her. Finally he says, “I’m not gay, I don’t like men.”

“Aren’t you listening? I’m not a man who likes men, I am a woman. I’m your woman if you still want me!”

Raheem looks away. “You should’ve told me this from day  one. I can’t process this.” He stands and leaves the visiting room. Ebony screams his name but he doesn’t look back.

A year passes. Raheem called the engagement off so she  mailed him the ring back. All of her emails have gone unanswered,  and the one time she went to New Jersey to visit him she was told that she had been removed from Raheem’s visiting list. The nightmares returned, the rejection she’s known all her life. Tonight she sits in her living room with beautiful teak furnishings, expensive sectionals and a Lazyboy, complete with the latest audio visual equipment. She watches Empire, trying to drink herself to  sleep. The doorbell rings. She looks into the peephole and gasps.  It’s Raheem, but how is he here? Why is he here? She knows he can’t see her, but nevertheless she feels his soulful eyes pierce her  heart. Ebony opens the door.
“How did you get here?” she asks.
“I took the bus. It cost me all the money they gave me upon  release.”
“But why are you here? You told me you couldn’t accept me.”
“I know what my stupid mouth said, Ebony. But my heart  led me here to you, and where my heart is, is where the rest of me belongs. I don’t know how, but we’ll get through this together. I know two things without a doubt: one is that I love you with all  that I am, and two is that I can’t see a life of happiness without you in it. If you’ll still have me, I want you to be my wife.” With that Raheem kneels, ring in hand.
“Ebony Stone, will you  let me spend the rest of my life loving only you?”

Tears stream down her face. She says, “I can never give you children.” Raheem smiles, taking her into his arms. “There’s more to  family than biology. Our children will be born of our love for one another. We’ll be a family of the heart and spirit.” That night Ebony  sleeps in Raheem’s arms. She found her someone.