Part III

Richard began introducing to me to more of his culture. Without his knowing, I bought a book called The Immaculate Invasion. It was the most current book on Haiti and described the US Marines presence in Haiti. I asked him questions about certain Creole words I didn’t understand (like ton ton macoutes) but were essential to understand the story. My ignorance of Haiti and Haitian culture was broad. He shared more when he realized I was interested. I didn’t believe half of the things he told me, because they seemed so outlandish and improbable. Since then, I know he hadn’t shared the worst of it with me. There were good reasons his family came here when he was just 14 years old.

We entered autumn together. I wondered how many seasons we would spend together. We walked along the path at the Salem Willows as the leaves began to turn color, and I expressed out loud how good it felt to be entering a new season with him. I thought we would be together a long time.

We discussed children and marriage. I had concerns about raising biracial children, and what they would endure. Richard took this to mean that I didn’t want biracial children. I wanted to talk more about it and explore the possibility. I had never wanted children, and don’t now, but with him, I pictured us with ten kids, in a somewhat chaotic but very loving household. He is the only man I could have seen myself having children with. Even with this, Richard took my concerns as a personal rejection of his culture, and possibly of him. I tried to explain that to me, having children is such a monumental and important step, and I needed to explore every aspect of it, including any hardships my children would have to endure.

Richard and I had experienced different levels of racism as a couple, from both whites and blacks. It was worse in Boston. White men would look at me with disgust, and black females would subtly give me a hard time. Nothing outright rude or disrespectful, but some were sure to let me know that I didn’t belong. I felt sorry for both sides and hoped that they could experience the type of love Richard and I had, regardless of skin color.

He was somewhat possessive of me. This hadn’t bothered me. I think now I was comfortable with it because of my relationship with my father (which is a whole story unto itself). He was mildly jealous, a tad insecure about the relationship itself – I think due to his prior girlfriend’s infidelity. I was okay with it, everyone has their baggage… and when I got sick of it, I would tell him, “This is ME. I don’t do that. I’M not like that. If you want to be treated like shit, I’m not the one”. It would jolt him back to reality for a period of time, and I knew it would take some time and some trust building within himself to work it out.

Richard made me sad twice. One time was when he brought me into his mind for a brief glimpse at how he saw me. I felt my heart sink.