Chapter One
Reflections
“I love you,” Aretha’s soothing voice resounded, awaking me from a dream of her lying in my arms.
I sat up in bed, and her lulling scent sedated me. With bated breath, I looked over, and there she was. My hands reached out for her, and her smile glowed from inside the handcrafted Neem wood picture frame. Her tranquil smile possessed its own mystic, but it could never provide the intense pleasure of having her in my arms.
“I love you more,” I replied.
If I could talk to Aretha beyond the spiritual realm, I'd tell her what she really meant to me, how special she was, and how sorry I was for all that had transpired over the past year. When I first learned of Aretha's death, I felt like my whole life had passed me by. To me, she was life – the air I breathed, the food for my soul, the strength for my spirit, and the blood that flowed from my heart. There wasn't an organ in my body that did not survive because of the love I possessed for her. My hands survived because their purpose was to caress and hold her. The strength of my legs was so that I could walk the beaches with her at sunset and share the radiance of precious moments. The strength of my mind was so that I could understand and define her in terms not able to be described in words. As for my heart, its purpose for strength was purely to house all the love I would absorb for her.
What we shared was a self-sculptured love that stretched the meters of our souls. In our world, there were no boundaries, only the open essence of our unconfined spirits. Though we had no boundaries amongst ourselves, it was the world outside of ours that created the threat to our unconditional vow. We both had a lot to risk, but we were willing to sacrifice it all for the sake of our love.
I loved her and tried to dissect every ounce of her being, but there were still parts of her that she kept sheltered away. While living, she fascinated me with her life. In death, she amazed me with her tranquility.
Tucked away in a posh neighborhood outside of Atlanta, Aretha lived what most would call the dream life. She was a summa cum laude graduate of Spelman College with a bachelor’s degree in psychology. Being a psychiatrist had never been Aretha's dream. It was a profession that she had pursued only to please her father, who was one of the first black psychiatrists to start a practice in the city of Atlanta during the early 1940’s.
After practicing for five years, she gave up psychology to venture into her true love — interior decorating. With a small client roster and only a year's worth of experience, Aretha launched a company that would prove to be the cornerstone for a movement of black female entrepreneurs in the city of Atlanta. She swooned upscale clientele, such as government officials, actors, athletes, and rappers who were all in search of her services, which turned their humble homes into Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous status. From the wives of Atlanta Braves players to the mistresses of Atlanta's elite, she was the person called on to make their dwellings a luxurious place of delight.
She was, also, the wife of a high profile partner at one of the most prestigious law firms in the state of Georgia. Aretha was among the elite in every way. She resided in a home that many would call a futuristic architectural masterpiece. The 8,200 square foot mini mansion was filled with the latest technology, from voice recognition thermostats that adjusted the temperature in the rooms upon hearing her voice to the electronic fingerprint recognition doors that glided open as she strolled from corridor to corridor.
With all the magnificent perks to compliment her royalty, she was a queen in her own right. Looking from a young black sista's youthful eyes, Aretha was a young debutante's vision of success. Aretha's life was perfect…or so it appeared.
When I compared the moment that I first saw her to what I came to know of her, a war of contradicting emotions waged within me. She came through the door of my office strutting like a runway model that had on the featured garment for a fashion show. She was breathtaking. Her smooth brown skin was like warm caramel that had been melted down and poured all over her petite frame. The honey gold Christian Siriano blouse she wore allowed her
Posted By: Shakeim Edmonds
Sunday, August 17th 2014 at 5:24PM
You can also
click
here to view all posts by this author...
