Dating the Counterfeit –  Chapter 4: Faith in a Familiar Tongue

I came back to my host family’s home around 8 am the next morning. These are not even my real parents, but I tried to sneak in because I did not want to taint my image. The beautiful, innocent American girl who smiles all the time. Always has silly riddles and jokes. Every week has a new talent to show. At times, I would casually showcase myself singing that “impossible” song that Whitney Houston sang (when she played the fairy godmother in Brandy’s rendition of Cinderella)… but in OPERA. So, I tried to gently open the door. But those French doors opened up like cell block 8. When I looked up, everyone was six feet away from me at the breakfast table. Having breakfast. I mean what could I do? I was barefoot with my head bowed, just trying to avoid eye contact. My host mother smiled deeply and gave me a nod indicating that it was safe to run into my room. Embarrassed but still high off my time spent with Sam. Could he be the one? I felt so lucky, because for years I had been experiencing emotional numbness. I had always been able to intellectualize my emotions. I knew when a moment was supposed to be happy. But I never truly felt it. However, for the last week, I felt disarmed. My guards were down and I was feeling again. I was able to feel a variety of emotions: anxiety, joy, hopelessness, and excitement. It was the first time in a long time that I was experiencing the ‘now.’ Time was moving at its exact pace. So just to be sure I was even allowed to have these emotions, I got down on both knees and I said a simple prayer. “Lord, if he is not for me, please show me.” That night, I fell asleep and I dreamt this dream:

[Winter 2018]
I dreamt I was in the basement of my parents’ home. But the basement was huge! And it was filled with children all wearing gold and purple. A child comes up to me, and he has hurt himself. I say to someone, quickly, go get the nurse. Then, this person appears. They say to me in a kind, yet disappointed voice, “Madame, you should know the body from here to here.” They say this while opening up their arms like Christ on the cross. Then I walk to this pulpit of an auditorium. And I see this black woman, who looks like she could be in her mid-40s. She hands me this high-tech blue spear. And we are just having casual conversation, but then she says to me, “Do you know you are going to marry a doctor?” I make a joke, and I say, “Can it be a brain doctor?” And another voice from a distance (a face I never saw) giggles and says… sure.

Hmmmm… so according to my dreams, I would marry a doctor. But that giggle at the end never sat firm in my spirit. After having lost my schizophrenic mother (whose ultimate death came from a multiple of illnesses she had throughout my life), my sister who died due to leukemia, and now I am in this foreign country where I have to continuously escape from men being unable to control their lust around me. Would God laugh when I asked such a serious question?

My mom was eight months pregnant with me and did not know. This beautiful, 5’10, caramel, curvy woman came in double. She was an identical twin. But her presence made it obvious which twin she was. Growing up in Haiti, her beauty stressed men out. By men, I mean very powerful ones. Ones who could not respect her no’s. Ones who would dare put her in a position to flee the country by assassinating her first husband. In hindsight now, I can see how she could never escape the chase of death. Because unless they planned to Sarah Baartman my mother; she could only be with one. And that one man will now have a realization, that true treasure comes with a cost. And the higher the value of the treasure, the higher the cost. So what should be the cost of something priceless?

Though my mother escaped a country, she did not escape what she was ultimately running from. Miami is a Latin city. However, many people forget that Haiti is a Latin country. Upon her arrival in Miami, she meets an American man. He adored the Latina within her. He did not know her native tongue, yet it was a priority for him to speak to her in ways that need no language. I could only imagine my mother’s pain in theory. She was stripped away from her culture, she had to abandon an identical twin, and a son that was borne to her first husband; …all because of her beauty. And this American man made her feel safe without words. He loved her. For him, meeting her meant that luck had a God. But unfortunately, when a person is tired enough, they will choose familiarity over change.

My 5’3 dad has now heard the rumors, and now knows it to be true. One of Haiti’s most beautiful women is now living in his city and is trying to rebuild her life with a man she is learning to speak to. My dad mixes her Latin charm with all of his willpower to convince her to be with him. Ultimately, she was in love with a man she could not speak to. And what greater prison, than the prison of the mind. Every day, knowing what she wants to say, but being unable to communicate it. I guess she wanted relief. Relief is what she chose. She was happy. Twenty-five years down the line and six kids later, they remained married. It wasn’t perfect, but they were building together. 

I remember being squished in between my parents when my dad came home from work because of how deeply they would embrace each other. I do remember my mom making us all wait until my dad came home to eat and serving him with the biggest plate in the home. I also remember sitting on the ground and helping my dad take off his work boots, as my mom told my dad about all the problems she had that day, knowing he would deal with them. I remember my dad showing me how to jab my mom with the needle in order to take her blood for that diabetic machine thing. Such happy moments. Until having to remember my mom calling me into her bedroom. (P.S. in a Haitian household, you were not allowed in your parents’ room. But I was so happy to even be called inside. I got to see if she added more decorations or rearranged anything). My extremely beautiful, elegant, out-going mother calls me in, to show me a photo of a woman. And I will forever remember these words she said to me, “This is the woman your dad is cheating on me with.” Outside of feeling pity for my mother and disappointment from my dad, I remember feeling like something was off. Because I was in elementary school. I could have been no older than 10. Why would my mom reveal to me something so mature?

Things began to become weird.

Nobody was picking me up from school anymore. I was the last one there. I sat outside until my principal took me home. My mom completely no longer picked me up and my teachers began to take extra care of me. I knew something was wrong, so I always refused their extra snacks. For months at a time, my mom went missing. I knew not to cry, but just to observe. The one day my mom was home, she asked me if she could take me to go see where the mistress lived. As we walked down my neighborhood, my mom began to start pulling on the door handles of cars. This was completely out of her character. This woman was the epitome of elegance and grace, and now she was yanking on door handles. I kept stopping her from pulling door handles. But I couldn’t stop her from walking towards the mistress’s home. Then my neighbor, whom I had never noticed before, a black woman in her mid-40s, she was in a nurse’s uniform. She stopped my mom gently. And she looked at me, and she said, “I need you to take care of mommy.” My eyes widened to avoid a tear from falling. I lifted up my head, and I held my mom’s hand and I said, “Let’s go home.”

Things began to become rough. Sleepless nights. Bloody shirts. Differences and tears. Begging that did not lead to resolution. My mom lost her homeland, her twin sister, her eyes, her health, and then her mind. What happens to a woman who builds a life with the counterfeit? In this instance, she lost her life.

So there is no way God could have giggled when I asked, could it be a brain doctor? Because he knows my question did not come from a place of vanity, but from an attempt to protect my sanity. I was never sure if I’d marry a neurologist. But I was sure that my husband would be a man who has the ability to keep me proactively protect me and keep me sane.