Fiction
Waiting for Tomorrow
Raising the cologne bottle in my hand to the light, the auburn-liquid shined like fire. I lowered the bottle and sprayed my neck and chest. I studied myself in the mirror—I wasn’t satisfied, but I had to leave. It was already past
It was late November. A cold breeze wrapped around my neck and face, giving me goose bumps. I took my hands out of my pockets and pulled my collar up to protect the back of my neck and face. With my collar up and my hands in my pockets again, I walked up the street. My mind was fixed entirely on Loretta. I was twenty-three. Loretta was nineteen. Before I went off to college, she had liked me—I was eighteen so she must have been fourteen. Naturally I shunned her. She was at the age when girls began noticing guys and since I was older I’m sure the idea of me was exciting.
After the spring semester ended, ending my second year at Rutgers-New Brunswick, I returned home. It was a Sunday evening and my mother was home alone so she decided to have some Christians from our church over—Loretta and her parents were among them. I entered the porch, a bag on each hand and another bag strapped across my shoulders. My mother saw me and forgot about whatever she was looking for as she ran toward me. I dropped the bags and received her embrace. “Eric!” she cried as she wrapped her arms around me. “How’d you do?”
“Dean’s list, of course…”
“I’m so proud of you,” she said. “Oh—honey come say hi to everybody!” She dragged me from the porch into the living room. As soon as I walked through the door, I was assaulted by dozens of people. The women kissed me, crying, “Look, Eric’s home!” and left my face smelling like different flavored lip gloss. The men shook my hands, echoing such phrases, “There’s the college man,” squeezing or patting my shoulders, and ruffling my afro. As they dispersed again after welcoming me, leaving me in disarray, all the way in the back of the room, I saw Loretta, but I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had left her a little black twig and she had grown into a great sycamore. Loretta’s eyes had become most remarkable. That moment onwards, whenever she stared into my eyes, she either had me look away or return her gaze and when our eyes made contact there was no looking away. Her face seemed to possess an undying innocence. At the threshold of womanhood, Loretta still maintained her youthful air while radiating with mature beauty. Apart from her tender and young face, she looked like a dazzling-beauty in her early twenties. I swallowed and looked away. My diffidence led me to avoid her all evening.
Later that evening, I was by the table getting some nachos and dip when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I turned to find Loretta’s beautiful large eyes on me. “Hey there,” she said with a smile. “Thought I’d come over and say hi before we leave!”
“Loretta…I barely recognized you.”
“Really? And here I am thinking you were avoiding me.”
“Avoiding you—” Just then her mother gestured for her to come over. They were leaving. Before walking away, as we stood under the chandelier, I saw sparkly tears circling the white of her eyes. She reached over and took my hand briefly. “Bye Eric,” she said. Turning away from me, she was gone. All three summer sessions I took classes at the local community college while working full-time so I hardly got to see her. Toward the end of the summer, we talked briefly at the Sunday school picnic. For the next two years we wrote to each other about once a month, but never sharing with each other how we truly felt. She was waiting for me to make the first move and I was waiting for the right time. A year after graduating, I still hadn’t said anything to her. But that November-evening I could hold back no longer. I was going to tell her.
By the time I got to Loretta’s house, it was already noticeably dark. Coming to the big house, I stood still at the walkway leading to the porch. The trees familiar to me during the day assumed strange shapes that night. Streetlights illuminated the street and sidewalk, but the house stood far enough from the sidewalk to avoid illumination. But their living-room was well-lit. With my hands nervously tucked in my pockets, I walked anxiously up the steps into the porch. By the door, to my left, was a long white bench. Mr. William must have recently put it out there because it wasn't there Wednesday, the last time I was at their house. Taking my shaky-hands out of my pockets, I rang the doorbell and waited for a second then, suddenly, I heard someone coming to the door. I shivered—whether from the cold or out of fear or both I wasn't sure, but I was happy that it was Loretta, not Mr. Williams, coming to answer the door. He and I were in good terms but I didn’t know how to explain to him I wanted to see his daughter that late.
She switched on the outside-light. “Who is it?”
“It’s me,” I said.
She cracked the door open. “Eric? You know what time it is, right?”
“I know. I need to talk to you.”
“Well, come inside.”
“No, please!—let’s stay out here.” She had on a comfortable looking red-sweater, dark blue jeans and fluffy slippers on her feet. She stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind her, coming beside me with her arms crossed.
“Have a seat?” I said. She sat calmly on the bench, looking puzzled. My heart was throbbing and, though chilly out, I’m pretty-sure my hands were sweaty too. I realized I couldn’t do this standing, so I sat down beside her. I wasn’t sure how to began, but, after thinking about it, I decided to take the direct approach. I swallowed and had my face to the wooden-floor. “Loretta, I’m attracted to you,” I said, at first hesitatingly, but growing in confidence, “I’ve wanted to tell you for the longest time, but I could never bring myself to do it. But I can’t hold it back any more. I like you Loretta. I like you a lot.”
She hurried to her feet, hands on her face, pacing back and forth.
I got up too. “What’s wrong?” I said, alarmed.
She stood still, her eyes fixed on me. “I know you do. I’ve always known. You know how long I prayed this would happen? But you…” She choked on her words. “You’ve always been such a coward.”
Her words stung. “I know,” I said, “But I’m telling you now.”
“It’s not that easy, Eric.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t this what you want too?”
“You make me so angry. Do you think the world revolves around you? Every opportunity is not stored away, labeled Don’t Touch, Exclusively Eric’s. In life, when you want something, you have to go after it because it won’t always be there waiting for you.”
I swallowed. “What are you saying? You don’t want me anymore?” I took her trembling-hands. “You can’t mean that, but even if you do, there has to be something I can do to win you back, Loretta. I’ll do anything.”
“It’s not that,” she said and gently tugged her hands from mine.
“What is it?” I asked. But I think I knew.
She walked farther away from me. Looking up at the night-sky, she said, “For years Joseph had been trying to talk to me. I had always said no, hoping that God had meant you and me to be together, but I waited for so long that I thought you…” She broke off about to cry—but she restrained herself. “Yesterday afternoon,” she resumed boldly, “we were at the park and he asked me out again. I said yes.” She paused. “And you know what? I don’t regret it. Since we were little, he’s always been there for me. He cares for me, Eric, and he’s going to make me happy.” All of a sudden it’s like I was a disembodied spirit. I felt empty and void. As I stood behind her, my eyes downcast, she turned around and looked up at me. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“No…no…I’m the one who should be apologizing…for being stupid enough to think you’d wait forever. I’ve wasted too much of your time already.” I slipped my hands into my pockets. I was angry with Loretta, Joseph, and myself. I felt her bright eyes fixed on me as I walked passed her and headed down the steps, away from the porch, the house, and returned into the darkness again, taking the walkway out to the sidewalk. I wanted to look back at Loretta but I couldn’t. I was in too much pain, having lost the only woman I believed God had meant for me. But what hurt the most was to know that, had I come two days earlier, I would not have lost her—but I had to face the facts, because of my indolence and boyish-insecurities, my opportunity was gone.