In the past five years I can only recall Steele and I having one major fight, in which I went to bed and thought it was really over, or where we didn’t send a conciliatory text message during the course of the night to say “I love you” or call in the morning to make sure everything was okay. I remember, even after fights, if he was going home or I was driving home, he would call me to say he reach or ask me to do the same. I honestly tried to practice the teaching, learned from my mother, that you should never go to bed angry. In fact, Steele used to hate that sometimes too, because I hated to let an argument fester over night. So I learned that if he wasn’t in the mood to talk, which was often in a fight, I would sleep by him and we would hug up, so he knew I was mad as hell, but I still loved him.
On this one occasion we didn’t speak for two weeks. In fact, we had some casual conversations, because of course we were working together and in the office everyday together. That must have been so strange for our other partner, Howard. Whenever there was tension between us, Howard would be right in the middle of it, just silent, doing everything we asked him to do. And I’m sure he could always tell, because everything was strictly business; no joking around.
It was the worse two weeks ever. I was completely dysfunctional. I was so mad during the fight I told him I hated him. It was the first time I ever said something like that, and it tormented me. He was so mad, he stormed out of my apartment (okay, Steele doesn’t storm, he walked out) and walked all the way home, at least a two mile walk. So about a week and a half into the fight, or rather the silence, I changed my ‘Google Chat’ sign in status to: “Am I worth fighting for?” (For those who don’t know what that is, it would be the same as a Facebook status or a MSN sign in name). We communicated daily on Google Chat for business and pleasure, so I knew he would see my status. The next day he changed his status to: “Is the hate gone?” My friends thought it was so amusing that we were communicating using Google Chat status messages. So I changed my status to: “Hate gone. Hurt still there.” That was late in the summer of 2008. I called all my close friends, in my usual fashion, balling over the fact that it was over. They were all saying: “Whatever. You say that all the time.” But I was sure this time. And then we came to our senses and the silence ended. Like my girlfriends used to say: “we always come back.”
When I left for the Bahamas in February, we cooked breakfast together at his apartment: akee and saltfish. Although my mother, a Jamaican, would dispute this, Steele taught me how to make akee and saltfish. That was our last supper. He took pictures of me with his new camera in the kitchen cooking. It was such a happy morning. I remember when people asked him how he was going to manage without me, he would say: “She soon come back, nuh worry yaself. Plus, every time her mother come a Jamaica, she gone find her way in di suitcase.” My mummy is always in Jamaica for one reason or another.
The concept of him being sick and in hospital was so foreign to me that when I heard and decided I needed to go back to Jamaica, I was parted as to how soon I should book my flight. A group I was a part of was hosting Mutabaruka in Nassau for a lecture and a performance, and I really wanted to be there. I didn’t have it in my mind that death was a possibility. Everyone kept saying: “no worry yaself, he’s just love sick.” Anyhow, I decided to leave right away and skip Mutabaruka. Turns out, I had the weeks mixed up anyway, and Mutabaruka wasn’t until some other time.
When I was on the plane, I made a list of things to do. There were a lot of mundane things on it, like figure out the health insurance, get the car sold, etc. The very first thing on the list though was: “Give Steele hope.” I knew he was going to be feeling like he’s disappointing us or burdening us, and all sorts of things. I thought he just needed me around for a little boost of hope. I also carried this book with me, called: “All About Us”.It’s a book you fill out together with your significant other to document how it all began and what you like about each other, etc. etc. I thought he might need something to do to occupy his time. He told me he didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to reminisce, or think about the future, because it would make him sad. He only wanted to be in the present. I told him okay, even though inside I was like no, you have to help me to remember everything, and I just sat quietly with him.
Now I wish we could just have one more fight. Anything would be better than this nothing. I’m so afraid to move back home now. It seems so final. I think he’ll wonder if I was ever really coming back to him.