Even in the dark, I know I am home from the weight of the mountains surrounding me as I step off the plane. The moist lushness of the rainforests nearby seem to have substance, and like a child wrapped in warm blankets, I feel the mountains enfold me while the lilt of creole accents mesh with the song of the frogs and a peace settles down in me; home.
I had been too tight on funds to make a trip home in over six months. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this little re-charge until now. As much as I love Barbados, there is something about St Lucia that fills my soul back up, and I was overdue for a top up. There is something subtle nudging me when I stay away too long. I take a deep breathe of the sea soaked atmosphere on Vigie beach before getting into the rental car….filling up with the moist, humid scent and I am reminded of volcanoes and Caribs; both long dormant, but still alive for me.
This trip I have no set agenda, and since it’s is close to the airport, on a whim I turn into Sans Soucci, headed towards the best hugger and my spiritual sparring partner, Ski. For conversation, creative blessings, the best massage in the universe; Ski has always been who I turn to, when the well runs dry.
Good times, hard times, we have always been able to share what really matters in life. He saw me through the death of my son, we both went through the collapse of our marriages at the same time; and through John’s addiction, he is the only person who never judged, and who gave the help that was needed without drawing back in self-protection.
Pulling up in front of the house, local music blaring away on the radio of my rental car as usual; Ski will definitely know someone is there. And as ever, there is a gathering on the front balcony of the house. There must be at least five guys, probably passing a joint from one to the next, on the long wooden bench. All eyes are on me as I get out of the car, a white chick in a rental car; headed straight for Ski and my hug. A wave of amusement passes through me as I imagine the high musings as each of the fellows comes up with their own interpretation of who I am and what I am doing here. In the dark, I can’t make out the individuals but I feel the eyes on me. I don’t know whether they are people I know or complete strangers; I put them out of my mind as Ski comes out to greet me, his smile warming my spirit; creating a mirrored smile on my own face.
“Gal, I didn’t expect to see you round here tonight….how are you?” he says, in his Reggae voice as his strong brown arms reach to enfold me in a deep, warm, long hug.
I take a step back, still holding on, arm to arm; “Just stopped by on a whim Ski; following my heart where it leads; as always. And it led me to your door; straight from the airport.”
There is someone to the right of me, on the porch, still watching me; so intently that I can feel the stare, so I turn to look, see who it is.
“Jah”, the word is out of my mouth before I realize it. “Jaws, that’s you?”
My ex-husband is right there, sitting on Ski’s porch, obviously just as disconcerted at seeing me there as I am, now that I realized that he is there. I had not seen him in over eight years. And damned if he didn’t look good; as if the man I fell in love with all those years ago had been raised from the dead.
The last five years that I was in St. Lucia, John had been in prison. I had divorced him legally, finally, only about two and a half years previously. But that was strictly because of financial constraints. The marriage had been over since shortly after our son died during his delivery. John’s addiction had killed off what little was left afterwards. We each carried heavy burdens.
“Yea it’s me,” and the sound of his voice took me to a million memories all at once. Some good, some bad, many just sad.
My composure shaken, I still couldn’t help but smile; “You look good John. I just came over from Barbados, and thought I would stop and say hello to Ski, so let me do that, and I’ll talk to you in a few.”
I kick my shoes off while moving Ski backwards into his living room. We had never broken contact from the hug; he had been my equilibrium throughout the brief exchange in the doorway. From the corner of my eye I had registered all the expressions passing over his face from amusement to concern, and to care and understanding. Ski is a wise soul.
He ushered me around to the couch. The room has not changed since my last visit, months ago. Actually, since his mother was still alive, and I first came to St Lucia. The same crushed velvet red and orange cushions, knick knacks and books from years ago fill the bookshelf/room divider, the television front and center, playing nothing that attracted my focus then and there.
As we sat, John stuck his head around the edge of the front door. He was upset. I was surprised that I could still read that man so easily. “Katherine, I have some papers by Daddy that belong to you. Check me before you leave so I can give them to you.”
Abruptly, hurt plain in his body language, he turned and left while I am still saying, “Okay, sure John, no problem.”
When he is gone, the tension leaves with him and I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, turning to look at Ski. “Garcion, you could not tell me the man was out of jail? Jah knows I didn’t need to find out so.”
“Girl I meant to tell you, I just didn’t think that I would be seeing you tonight. That was something else though”, smiling a knowing, sarcastic smile. I reach out and knock him on the shoulder, frowning, but followed by my own smile. He is right after all. What an intense moment.
“He looks, I don’t know. Clean; he has on jewelry. Is he? Is he using?”
“I think he is good, but then only he and Jah know that for sure. He has been home about six weeks Kat. He says he struggles still, every day; but he seems to have gotten some help at Bordelais, and he is definitely trying. Keynon fixed him up a little apartment at the back of the garage; he does odd jobs in the neighborhood and stays away from temptation. He is here most days, and we vibe. I reason with him. His head is still messed up with prison life, but he’s coming along. For now.”
I try to get my bearings, and settle into a normal flow of conversation with Ski, but my mind keeps seeing the emotions in John’s face as he left for his father’s and Ski knows I am not fully able to concentrate on catching up and sharing life stories. I promise to get back to see him the following day, and head down the block to my father-in-law’s house to find John. I imagine the houses in the neighborhood all having eyes peeping from behind each window as I walk past them. St Lucia is small and news travels fast. The gossip mill in Sans Soucci will have enough fodder to run all weekend.
I make in impromptu decision to carry him out to dinner, catch up with him…away from the block, from Daddy K, and see for myself if he is rehabilitated. There has always been a part of me praying for him to find the strength to rise above the addiction, hoping he would find his way back to himself. A part of me never believed in that miracle, but I guess my heart is forever optimistic and I realized that I still hoped.
I offered, he accepted and during the drive up north, he complained; “you didn’t even look at me when you came up the stairs to Ski’s.’ That explained why he had been upset. ‘You pulled up to the house and never even noticed me… my wife; who he hasn’t seen in years, pulls up to my friends’ house. I was sitting there watching you, recognizing you before you were out of the car, but you never even acknowledged my presence until after hugging another man hello. Never mind it was Ski.”
I wanted to laugh, it was such an irrational complaint….but he was being honest and admitting what he felt, without malice or subterfuge, and I didn’t want to dishonor that, so I just explained that I hadn’t seen him. Useless, of course because as far as he was concerned that was the issue- I should have “felt” his presence….known it was him, as he had known it was me.
The papers from his father’s house turned out to be the divorce papers which I had served him while he was in prison. He said he had refused to sign them, but if I still wanted the divorce, he understood, and he would sign the papers for me. I got this sinking feeling on hearing that, since we already were divorced and he was obviously never informed by the courts and now I got to tell him. Oh Joy.
“John, there was a hearing. You were supposed to have been given legal counsel and transport to Castries from the prison to attend. It was horrible, waiting for you to show up. I had sat there in the courtroom, nervous; expecting you to come in and fight the divorce but since you had not turned up, the divorce was granted to me.” We have not been man and wife in more than ten years in my heart, or any meaningful or physical manner. We had been legally divorced for almost three years, and he didn’t even know it until this night. What a crappy way to start the conversation. I felt on the defense and guilty, even though I had nothing to feel guilty for.
At that point I fully expected that we would soon be arguing and the dinner would be a very short one, but I was wrong. There was a part of us both that needed to say everything that had never been said, to hear each other, and somehow it worked. We could have easily, either of us, let the past intrude in a negative way. We talked about everything, the addiction, the financial hardships, the losses in terms of material possessions, starting over, friends, and the broken relationships between him and the kids. We skirted the subject for a while, and both ended up in tears when we finally could go around it no longer and the ghost of our son came to rest between us. And we both blamed ourselves, and each other, and admitted it. And somehow, that made it a little less horrible. To have it said, out with, admitted. “It was your fault….damn it.” Those words that were never spoken at the time, the ones we ate and choked on, while trying to salvage a marriage we both believed in when we said “I do”.
Perhaps it was that we had nothing left to lose, and there was a bond between us of over twenty five years…not continuous, but a relationship that long, originally grounded in love and mutual respect, we had this night, this unexpected moment, and while dinner came and went, desert, then coffee, and the other diners left, one by one… we healed.
John cost me everything I worked for, everything we both worked for, in the first 32 years of our lives. His addiction wiped out everything and I was left in a country that didn’t like foreigners, with two children to raise on my own. I started over there twice; first with him, then afterwards, on my own with the kids.
When we were together, he used to manipulate my emotions; make me feel as though his habit was caused somehow by my inadequacies. Not that I was perfect mind you, or I didn’t make mistakes myself, but being blamed for his actions, wanting to hate him, but never being able to….all these years had passed with these things buried in me, since interacting with him was impossible before.
On this rare night; a moment was gifted to us both; outside of our normal life’s timeline; in this very special, unexpected evening, John looked at me, and apologized.
He looked in my eyes, his own filled with tears, and took the responsibility that he had laid at my feet over and over during our marriage. He lightened my heart, one word at a time. And the thing is, his own heart lightened along with mine. If anyone tells you there is no magic in the world, tell them I say; they lie.
All that grief, resentment and pain I bore for so long, things I thought I had gotten over years before, they fell from me, and as I let the tears roll down my cheeks, I remembered not the jombie, not the man lost beneath an addiction. I could see the glimmer of the man I fell in love with before the drugs. I am not sure who benefited more from the evening, he, or I, but I know that when I eventually dropped him back home, and I hugged him good night; I was not the same person who stepped off that plane a few short hours previously, and he was not the same man who was jealous of one of his best friend’s hugging his “wife”.
Miracles do happen. Addicts can recover, and love; love can do amazing things, even when it is past resurrecting.
You can go home again.
