Chapter 5
An interesting person
Ana
French? African? Maybe both. Whatever the origin, it suited her. Beautiful, handsome. She was striking in a way that made me pause. Her androgyny didn’t confuse me; it captivated me.
Smooth, deep mahogany skin. A jawline carved with intention. That dazzling smile, infectious and white against her skin, had branded itself into my mind.
Masculine-presenting women had always unsettled and intrigued me. In the outside world, they were called tomboys. But in queer spaces, their masculinity was absolute, lived. Not a phase, not a style. She wasn’t performing. She was embodying something whole.
If I were gay, which I wasn’t, I wasn’t (I’ve been praying about it). I’d have fallen for someone like her. But that was hypothetical.
I respected the LGBTQIA2S+ community, of course. But I’d been raised to believe that love, true love, was between a man and a woman. Anything else led to sorrow, sin, and hell. That’s what I was taught, what I believed.
But she walked into my church, then my thoughts, and now everything I believed trembled.
“Ana! Our guests are here!” My mom called out, snapping me out of my daydreaming. It was good because my thoughts were spiraling downward.
I hurried downstairs, where Stanley and his mom were already chatting with my parents at the door. Mama Davis was an agreeable, poised woman in her late fifties, with the charm and grace of Haitian women of her generation. She greeted me with a warm hug, and I returned it absentmindedly.
I was still thinking about her.
“How are you, Ana?” Mama Davis asked.
“I’m doing good, Mama Davis,” I answered, glancing at Stanley, who was busy discussing politics with my dad. “I missed you at service this morning.”
“I’ve been under the weather, but I’m fine now. I needed to rest,” Mama Davis explained.
“It’s good to see you’re okay now,” I said, stepping over to greet Stanley. “Hey,” I said, offering him a kiss on the cheek.
“You look beautiful,” he said, a little too eager for my liking. It annoyed me for some reason.
“Thanks.” And that came out flat; I couldn’t even fake enthusiasm.
Then, my mom announced with a broad smile. “Dinner is ready.”
We all moved into the dining room.
My parents maintained their connection to Haiti, evident in the vibrant and traditional paintings adorning the walls, plastic-covered sofas, crystal trinkets, family photographs, and religious scriptures. This was the atmosphere that I grew up in, but somehow, tonight, I detached from it all.
Mom had prepared rice, black bean sauce, and stewed legumes, my favorite dish, and Stanley’s (right). My mom placed me next to him, which wasn’t surprising. I guess she was hoping for some spark, bless her heart. She even made me serve him his plate.
The dinner was long. The conversation shifted from Haitian politics to God, then to Stanley’s successful financial firm. I half-listened to Stanley as he spoke of his business successes. I sent quick smiles and nods here and there, contributing nothing of substance to the conversation. Stanley and my dad were in one conversation, while my mom and Mama Davis were discussing something unrelated. I remained quiet in the middle, wondering when it would be appropriate to excuse myself from the table.
“Stanley, I hear you’re receiving an entrepreneurship award soon,” my dad disclosed, pride beaming at his not-quite-yet, if ever, son-in-law.
“Yes, sir,” Stanley confirmed, grinning. “The award event is in a couple of days, followed by an after-party at a friend’s place. I’d be happy if you could be my date for the event, Ana.”
“Of course, she’d be thrilled!” My dad exclaimed before I could answer.
I was too preoccupied with the word ‘friend‘ that Stanley mentioned earlier. Could it be... her?
“Who’s hosting the after-party?” I asked, trying my best to keep the interest out of my tone. I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask.
Stanley smiled. “She’s a good friend of mine. She’s a shareholder in my company and a successful investment banker. You met her at church earlier. It’s Soulé. She was the one who offered the blank check.”
“Ah, her,” I said, pretending this didn’t send a jolt up my heart.
My mom, forever inquisitive, jumped in. “That’s her name? She was a visitor at our church today?”
“Soulé Nallamoutou. And yes, she was the one with the blank check,” Stanley reiterated.
I subtly pursed my lips. Yes, she had a blank check. Let’s move on.
My mom raised curious brows. “Soulé Nallamoutou? That’s... unusual.”
“She’s from Martinique. She’s a remarkable woman. She used to be engaged to Stanley,” Mama Davis informed.
Oh... engaged? To a man?
“That woman did not look like a woman.” My mother’s head tilted, a subtle shift that spoke volumes of her bewilderment. Her gaze was fixed on some middle distance, her brow furrowed in a way I’d only seen when she wrestled with a complex cross-stitch pattern. “She wore a man’s suit. How...?” her voice faded to a puzzled murmur, a whisper of disbelief, as if the universe had just presented a paradox as bamboozling as the physics of a black hole.
Mama Davis laughed. “Ah, she used to be feminine, but she changed in the past few years, and now she’s her true self.”
“Interesting,” my father said, his eyes narrowing. “Does she have a family of her own?”
“She has two sisters, but they and her parents are not part of her life. They’re estranged,” Stanley said.
“I wonder why? Were they terrible parents?” My father asked.
“They struggled to accept her for who she is,” Mama Davis pitched in.
“A successful daughter? That’s absurd! Any father would be proud to have a successful daughter. As proud as I am of my beautiful Ana,” My father remarked, reaching over to hold my hand. “What’s the story there?”
“Honey, you’re being nosy. It’s unbecoming for a pastor,” my mother added, not meaning anything she had said. She was also interested.
“It’s a friendly conversation. You know you’re curious too,” my dad pointed out.
“I see everyone has taken an interest in Soulé.” Mama Davis laughed.
“Does she plan on marrying anyone? There’s this great friend of mine who has a son—”
“Dad, stop that!” I snapped. This was embarrassing enough; now he wanted to play matchmaker for a woman he didn’t know and who was, as far as one could tell, a lesbian.
Stanley chuckled, and Mama Davis followed with a knowing smile.
“She’s not interested in men,” Mama Davis said, with a hint of humor. “But women, yes.”
“I don’t follow.” My dad squinted his eyes. He was, genuinely, perplexed.
“There’s no husband in Soulé’s future. A wife, yes. But, a husband, not on God’s green earth,” Mama Davis said. “She’s a proud lesbian.”
The scraping of a chair against the tile floor, the last vestige of sound before the quiet descended, amplified. My mother’s eyes, usually bright with warmth, were now unblinking and wide. My dad’s lips pressed into a thin, pale line, a muscle ticking near his jaw. Inside, my thoughts still raced with the news of Soulé’s failed engagement with a man—Stanley, at that.
My mom cleared her throat to provide a diplomatic response. “Well, everyone should be free to live as they wish.”
Dinner continued, but the conversation changed. The news rattled my parents, but they held their tongues and focused on safer topics. As for me, I finished my meal, but I couldn’t help but reel in that curiosity about Soulé Nallamoutou.
This monotonous Sunday was the most interesting I’ve had in a while.
Prayer Journal - Ana
05/05/2024
Dear God,
I’ve met an interesting person today.
Soulé Nallamoutou. I think that’s how you spell it. If not, Lord, please forgive my spelling, you know my heart and my terrible handwriting.
She had a way about her. When she walked into my dad’s church today, she owned the space without even trying. And her smile...oh God. Her smile looked like it knew things, calamitous things, like how to make someone be seen and noticed.
And God...I noticed her back.
I liked it (too much).
Not in a sinful way. I don’t think. Maybe? I’m very confused.
To be honest, it scares me.
It was as if I stood on the edge of a cliff, humming with promise, the fear, the rush, the quiet seduction of the fall, and that aching part whispering: “Just let go.”
Anyway, I’m sure I’m reading way too much into it. I do that. You know I do that. It was just a smile, right? A simple, meaningless smile. Nothing to start rewriting my entire understanding of myself over.
But if You are trying to tell me something, Lord, a clearer sign would be great. Maybe a burning bush? A non-metaphorical lightning bolt? A ‘STOP IMAGINING THINGS’ written in the sky?
Honestly, I’m not picky.
Because my heart’s a little too awake right now.
And we both know how dangerous that is.
Because I am, but I can’t be.
Amen.