Aunty Jaz’s fish shack is truly
a shack. Vines entangle the tiny
structure as if they’ll pull it apart.
President Bodden told us she lives
in rooms behind it.
Michael parks in front.
“Are you sure, babe?”
He looks up and down the street.
“This part of the island
isn’t what you’re used to.”
A rooster struts across the road.
“I come from a farm full of pigs.
My grandma had chickens.”
He frowns, uncomfortable.
“But every body here is—”
“Poor?”
“A different color.”
I frown right back.
“Those cute kids over there
don’t scare me.”
His hand rests on my head.
“I’m not leaving you here
until I know you’re safe.”
I lean over and kiss him.
“Deal.”
I climb out, and a small boy
with a huge dog calls from across
the street. “Aunty Jaz is sick.
No fish, lady.”
I cross the street and pat
the mutt’s head. “Hi, I’m Leesie.
I’m Aunty Jaz’s friend.”
The kid’s lower lip juts out.
“How come I never see you before?”
The dog growls.
I recall my hand. “I’m a new friend.”
“I thought so.”
Michael won’t unload my bags
until we check things out.
We pause in front at windows
closed with heavy wooden shutters
painted yellow and purple.
And a locked pink door.
“Around back,” the boy yells.
“Keep behind me.”
Michael shields me with his body,
quietly creeping, in case
we’re attacked by—
the two large, laughing women
we find on a screened porch.
“Don’t make me laugh, sister,”
a gray-haired one shrieks,
“it hurts my foot.”
“Laughing hurts your foot?”
“Everything hurts my foot.”
They see Michael and stop.
“Aunty Jaz?”
She frowns. “The restaurant’s closed
young man.”
I step out from behind Michael.
“President Bodden sent us.”
Her hands flap up and down.
“Mercy, where’s my manners?
You’ll be Sister Hunt?”
I can’t help but smile back at her.
“Leesie, please. Can I call you
Aunty Jaz?”
“Only if you come right here”—
she holds open her arms—
“and give this old soul a kiss.”
The other lady opens the screen
door wide, beams and nods.
I go right up to Aunty Jaz,
lean over, kiss her sunken cheek.
She hugs me to her expansive bosom.
Her eyes move from the ring
on my finger to Michael and back
to me. “I bet you got a good story for me.”
“Leesie’s a poet.”
Michael stands in the doorway.
“You don’t say.” She moves
over so I can sit beside her
on the sagging couch.
“I’ll be having that after dinner then.”
A void in my soul makes my head drop.
“I can’t. Michael saved some rough scraps, but all my good stuff is lost.”
Aunty Jaz’s shoulders heave up and down.
“Write me more then—after dinner.”
“Excuse me.” Michael disappears,
returns with my bags.
He pulls the scribbles he rescued
out of the side pocket, dumps
them in my lap. “Time you got to work.
I’ll leave you the laptop.”
I pick the bundle up,
stare at it. “So I can stay?”
He nods. “I have a good feeling about this.”
He turns to Aunty Jaz. “My dad loved
your fish fry. Do I get a kiss, too?”
Aunty Jaz grins and puckers her lips.
Michael kisses her cheek like I did.
She kisses him back. “Sit down, boy.
Sit down and we’ll have us a visit.
I’ve a good feeling about you, too.”
LEESIE HUNT / CHATSPOT LOG / 06/23/2010 3:17 PM
Kimbo69 says: You moved away from all those beautiful boys before I could come visit?
Leesie327 says: Poor Mark. Do you drool like this when he’s around?
Kimbo69 says: We have a mutual agreement about eye candy.
Leesie327 says: You’ll love Aunty Jaz.
Kimbo69 says: Why do they call her that?
Leesie327 says: Her name is Jasmine—like the flower.
Kimbo69 says: Does she smell good?
Leesie327 says: Michael thinks it’s a sign from his mom. She used to wear gardenia perfume. It’s like one tropical flower to another.
Kimbo69 says: He’s getting as crazy as you are.
Leesie327 says: He took us to church Sunday. I didn’t even ask. All the sudden there he was in front of Jaz’s shack, honking the horn of a used car he bought because the RAV he’d rented was too hard for Aunty Jaz to get into. He wore a brand new white shirt and that Valentino tie I Ebayed for him when I made him go to that dance with me. He took it to Thailand. The tie. Figure that one.
Kimbo69 says: He went to church with you?
Leesie327 says: It took both of us to get Aunty Jaz in the front seat of the car. It was worth it, though. She was so excited to be going to church again. She used to take a bus. Can’t now with her foot.
Kimbo69 says: Is her house really a shack?
Leesie327 says: Pretty much. There’s running water, a real toilet, electricity—no AC. We spend a lot of time on the porch.
Kimbo69 says: How sick is she?
Leesie327 says: I have to make sure she eats and gets her insulin shot. We test her blood sugar, too. The nurse came Friday, and I helped her change the bandages on Jaz’s foot—it’s bad.
Kimbo69 says: I’d hurl.
Leesie327 says: I’m tougher than you.
Kimbo69 says: It sounds like you like this stuff.
Leesie327 says: I do. I’ve got something to do other than flail myself with guilt over the accident or fantasize myself crazy about Michael.
Kimbo69 says: You’ve stopped fantasizing about Michael?
Leesie327 says: I’m trying—it’s not easy.
Kimbo69 says: No fantasizing? That’s not healthy.
Leesie327 says: I’ve got to repent.
Kimbo69 says: Even your thoughts?
Leesie327 says: Yeah. That’s the hardest part. He walks into the room, and I have to start all over again. Let those thoughts go wild, and it’s hard to tame them.
Kimbo69 says: I’ll never figure you out.
Leesie327 says: It’s not such a mystery. If I can’t sleep with him, it makes it worse if I’m constantly thinking about it. Duh.
Kimbo69 says: Are you still getting married?
Leesie327 says: I hope by the end of the summer like we planned. I’m never giving him his ring back. He’s stuck with me.
Kimbo69 says: That doesn’t sound too definite. What’s wrong?
Leesie327 says: Nothing. I have to go home first—he promised my dad.
Kimbo69 says: Can you do that now?
Leesie327 says: I’ve been on the phone with my parents every day since that first call. I think I’ll be ready. I have to be ready. So we can get married.
Kimbo69 says: Is Michael pretty stoked? It’s what he wants, isn’t it?
Leesi
e327 says: We’re not talking about it. There’s still one big complication.
Kimbo69 says: You’re holding the Mormon stuff against him?
Leesie327 says: That doesn’t matter to me anymore. I just want him.
Kimbo69 says: Tell him then.
Leesie327 says: I tried—and I choked on the words.
Kimbo69 says: He deserves this, Leesie. Don’t be such a wimp. Leesie327 says: I know. I know.
Kimbo69 says: How often do you get to see him?
Leesie327 says: He drives all the way over here every night after work. Hangs out until midnight and then goes back to East End. That’s a lot of driving.
Kimbo69 says: I’d call it devotion.
Leesie327 says: Aunty Jaz told me her husband got baptized twenty years after they married. I’d wait that long for Michael—I would.
Kimbo69 says: What if he never gets baptized?
Leesie327 says: He brought me back. He must believe a tiny bit. Kimbo69 says: He knows you need it—that doesn’t mean he believes it.
Leesie327 says: I know. That’s why I’m too afraid to even bring it up. After all we’ve been though, I can’t risk offending him.
Kimbo69 says: You’ve got to talk to him.
Leesie327 says: I think I’m going to watch and wait. Nothing else feels right.
Kimbo69 says: That’s it?
Leesie327 says: And pray.
Kimbo69 says: Pray?
Leesie327 says: Pray. A lot.
Chapter 26
JAZ’S TEST
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG – VOLUME 10
Dive Buddy: Leesie
Date: 06/25
Dive #: first one in the new kayak
Location: Grand Cayman
Dive Site: Turtle Reef
Weather Condition: sunny
Water Condition: calm
Depth: 50 ft.
Visibility: 80 ft.
Water Temp: 82
Bottom Time: 4 minutes at a time
Comments:
I lucked out. It’s slow today. The new kayak I ordered is in at the scuba shop downtown. Aunty Jaz’s nurse comes Thursday afternoon. Which all adds up to me and Leesie paddling out to the mini wall off Turtle Reef. Jaz lives in West Bay. Close to where I certified to free dive as a kid. North Wall is close, too. Great diving. Too bad I’m down in East End, but we’ll make it work. I bought a car. It’s cool.
Okay, I lied. I’m doing all the paddling. Leesie’s facing me instead of turned around in paddle ready form. She’s lying back on the rugged black nylon the boat’s made out of, eyes closed, fingers trailing in the water. She wore an old one-piece swimsuit with a t-shirt over it. I’m wearing swim shorts and a rash guard so I don’t get burnt. Too warm today for wetsuits—even a dive skin.
I hold the paddle so it drips on Leesie’s face.
Her eyes open. “Are we there yet?” She wipes the drops from her face.
“No.”
Her eyes close again. “When can we go swimming?”
“Can we talk first?” We haven’t talked alone much since she moved to Aunty Jaz’s.
“I’m hot.” She sits up and drops her head on my shoulder.
I lower my paddle. “Let’s swim then.”
She slips out of her t-shirt and hits the water before I can even stow my paddle. I hand her fins, snorkel and mask. “Babe, you gotta wear this stuff. You’re in the ocean.”
She takes them and smiles. “Have I told you I love you?”
“Not today.” I slide into the water and kiss her.
She pushes me away. “That’s so dangerous.”
“I know.” I hook one arm on the kayak and watch her. “I’ll be good.”
Her face gets bleak. “I’m not worried about you.”
“You’re going to flip out and attack me?”
That coaxes a faint smile. “Yeah. Brace yourself.”
I maneuver the kayak between us. “How’s this?”
She hooks her elbows over her side and stares across at me with her chin propped on her fists. “Perfect.”
“How’s it going, babe? All that stuff President Bodden told you to do?”
“Okay, I guess.”
I frown at her. “You didn’t eat the sacrament thing Sunday.”
“You saw?”
“The pres said you should.”
Her eyes study the bottom of the boat. “I know. I need to do it, but I’m scum. It felt wrong.”
“Hey.” I lift her chin. “Why?”
“I listened to the wrong voice.” Her masked eyes search for mine. “I felt horrible that I didn’t take it. This Sunday for sure I will. Will you drive us again?”
“Of course.” I rest my hand on her shoulder.
“It’s not too boring?”
I squeeze her arm. “How’s the other stuff going?”
She inhales deeply, slips her mask up on her forehead. “I emailed Krystal yesterday. I haven’t heard back. That’s the last apology I can think of.”
I push my mask up, too. “What about all that praying?” I stroke her cheek.
She leans against my hand. “I’m doing that, too.”
“President Bodden said I should help.”
“It’s okay, Michael.” She slips from my touch. “I can handle it. I know all this stuff makes you uncomfortable.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Am I relieved? Or upset that she’s blocking me out? I pull myself into the kayak and help her back in. She picks up her paddle. We stroke in sync a few minutes up-current along the mini-wall to a good free diving spot. I rest my elbows on my paddle and lean forward so I can whisper to Leesie. “It doesn’t.”
She cranes her neck around. “What?”
I stroke her slicked down wet head. “Your church stuff. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable anymore.”
She bows her head.
I wrap my arms around her. “You’re praying right now, aren’t you?”
“Just saying thanks.”
“Let me hear.”
She twists to face me, takes hold of my hands and bows her head again. “Dear Heavenly Father, Thank Thee for Michael.”
I rest my forehead against hers. “That’s what you pray?”
“All day. Every day. 24/7.”
Then we get in the water, and I feel like everything is slow motion. Breathing down for a free dive, falling through the water to the wall, floating with a couple angel fish, kicking with my huge free dive fins to get back to the surface and Leesie. It’s like a dream. My mom is there all around me—in every drop of water, every smile Leesie gives me, every ray of sunshine that lights the ocean we dive through.
I get Leesie to try a few free dives. She’s awful at it—can’t hold her breath. She tries, though. We stay out on the wall until I’m almost too tired to paddle back in. Leesie’s tired, too, but she’s good with a paddle.
When we get to Aunty Jaz’s, I corner Jaz on the porch while Leesie’s changing. “How do I know that what I feel is what you guys say it is? It feels like my mom. You know she died?”
Aunty Jaz shakes her head. “I’m sorry, sweet boy.” She pats my knee.
“Me, too. What Leesie says is your Holy whatever feels to me like whispers from my mom. I know that’s real. Why should I believe the way you guys explain it?”
Aunty Jaz hands me a Book of Mormon she was reading before I sat down. “Turn to the back. It’s marked.” She leans across me, flips the pages to a couple underlined verses.
It says if someone reads the book and asks God about it, He’ll tell him if it’s true. “That’s it?” I look up at her. “I just have to pray?” That’s kind of their answer for everything.
Aunty Jaz grins and winks at me. “Read that book and pray.”
I close it up and hand it back to her.
She pushes it to me. “You keep it. My gift.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
I put it away before Leesie returns.
Read the book and pray.
> How hard can that be?
LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM #97, SABBATH SURPRISE
Sunday.
Church.
Michael holds the silver
bread tray for me until
I take
a tiny white crumble
and put it in my mouth.
I chew slowly, waiting
for a lightening bolt
to fry me in my seat.
I close my eyes, feel
Michael’s fingers winding
around mine.
Did You know he would
be such a miracle?
The heavens don’t answer.
I’m left to ponder until it’s