Tango: Part IV

Excerpt from Tango

She had the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen; big and round with the perfect shade of brown. Her smile reminded me of my great aunt Lea’s baking. Whenever my brother and I would fight over the last homemade oatmeal raisin cookie, she would open the oven just in time to pull out a fresh batch and place them on the stove top.

“Uh-uh” She would intervene without looking up.

“Now you boys know I don’t like all that fighting carrying on around here.” She would say with that exact same smile as she waddled across the kitchen floor towards us.

Her white apron, blotch stained of cookie batter, draped across her yellow skirt. A fairly aged petite woman, with big hips and narrow shoulders, she looked more like my grandmother than my great aunt. Her breasts were fairly large for her size, and her eyeglasses rested upon them dangling from a silver chain passed down from my great grandmother. Placing her eyeglasses unto her face, she kissed our foreheads and sent us off to wash up for supper. The aroma never did stop once we hit the top of the stairs. It filtered through the house like pollen blowing across the fields of Missouri’s grasslands. Even inside the bathroom, it smelt as though she had mixed the batter right inside the room.

I chuckled.

“Your office is upstairs; the last door on the left.” She explained. “They’re still putting down carpet and moving in furniture, so for now, you can use the conference room down the hall. I apologize; we’ve gotten a little bit behind schedule.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I know how things can get sometimes…I…didn’t get your name?” I asked, leaning against the receptionist desk.

“Cynthia. I’m usually behind that door over there.” She said motioning behind her with her head.

“Jhamela, our receptionist, will be in tomorrow.”

The door stood right in the middle of a wall, behind the receptionist desk. A brass plate embedded on the door read: Cynthia James, M.S.W, Program Coordinator. One hallway on either side framed her office like a photo snapshot. In front, a workstation stood about twenty feet away from the entry into the facility, and was very much the receptionist area. The workstation front casing displayed t-shirts, coffee mugs, and magazines in which the organization’s logo, mission statement, and pictures were printed.

“I don’t blame her. With weather like this, I’d love to be some place warm.”

“True.”

“So, I guess you’re the person I come to if I need anything?”

“Nope.”

“No?”

She chuckles.

“You have an assistant, Stephon; he handles all of your requests and if appropriate, sends them to me. He’ll be in tomorrow. He’s flying in from San Francisco.”

Bakarri coughs. She sees him standing with arms folded looking up at the flat screen above her office door.

“Bakarri! You’re just going to stand there and not speak?”

“Aww Ms. James. It ain’t even like dat. I got caught up in the football game. You know how it is; and, you was talk’n to Siddell…”

“Siddell?”

“My bad, Mr. McClendon.”

“Boy…”

“I told him it’s okay to call me by my first name.” I interrupted.

“Okay…” She contracts her upper body and slightly bows her head. Her lips part making a stretched oval shape and her left eyebrow slightly rises as she sarcastically turns her head and grabs a sheet of paper off the printer.

“…as long as you’re okay with it, I suppose its fine. He already thinks he’s grown.” She cut her eyes towards Bakarri; thin as a razor blade but wide enough to show her playfulness.

“I am grown.” Bakarri defense himself.

“Chile please!”

“You always say dat…” He slightly bumps me in my right shoulder.

“Hi Ms. James, how yo’ day going?”

“Fine…now.” she leans over the desk and hugs him.

“I see you’re still taking care of yourself.”

“Ah-huh! You know, ah-huh, I do what I gotta do when I gotta do it. Ya’ feel me?” He nudges me in my right shoulder again.

“Appearance is everythang! Never know who might see you, gotta be ready at all times. I mean, look at you Ms. James, you know all about dat.”

“So is that a compliment?”

“Fo’sho!”

She laughs.

“I just don’t understand these young men these days. What happen to the old fashion: Excuse me miss, I like your outfit, it looks really nice on you.”

“Nawl, dat’s lame. Nobody says nuh’n like dat no moe’. You gotta be different, ya’ know, smooth.”

Cynthia and I both laugh.

“You said the conference room right? Which way do I go?” I asked before Bakarri could continue on.

“It’s down this right hall, the last door on the left.”

“Alright… It was nice meeting you Cynthia.”

“You too; if there is anything you need before tomorrow, just email me...Oh, I almost forgot; your laptop.”

She places a black leather messenger bag on top of the desk.

“It came in this morning. Also, I put an index card in there with your login and temporary password. You can change it once you’ve logged in.”

“Great, I’ll definitely email you if I need anything.”

“Alright then, well have a great day”

“You too”

“See you Ms. James” Bakarri yells back.

The weight of the bag caught me off guard as I grabbed it from the desk. It seemed like I was carrying two bricks or a slab of cement. What the hell kind of laptop was in here is all I wanted to know.